Manuscript & Transcription: RBVBMS_369(ii)

**1

*?
*Broken Ties and Other Stories, Macmillan, 1925

Theft from {the} King’s treasury! The thief must be found or there will be trouble for the officer of the guards.
{V}<B>ajrasen, a stranger from a foreign port, came to sell horses, and robbed by a band of robbers of all his earnings was lying in a ruined temple outside the town. They charged him with the theft, chained him and led him through the streets to the prison.

Proud Shyama, of a perilous charm and matchless beauty, sat in her balcony idly watching the passing crowd. Suddenly she shuddered and cried to her attendant, “Alas, who is that godlike youth with a noble <+++> {face} led in chains like a common thief? Ask the officer in my name to bring him in before me.”
The chief of the guards came with the prisoner and <smilingly> said to Shyama, “Untimely is your favour, my lady. I must hasten to do {the} the King’s bidding.”
Vajrasen quickly raised his head and broke out, {W}<+++>hat caprice is th<s>{i}s of yours, fair one, to bring me from the street before you to mock me with your cruel curiosity?”
“Mock you!” cried Shyama, “I could gladly take your chains upon my limbs in exchange for my jewels.” Then turning to the officer she said “Take all the gold I have and set him free.”
He bowed and said “It cannot be. A victim we must have to {the} King’s wrath.”
“I ask only two days’ respite for the prisoner,” urged Shyama. The officer smiled and consented.

On the end of his second night in prison Vajrasen said his prayers and sat waiting for his last moment, when suddenly the door opened and the woman appeared with a lamp in her hand and at whose signal the guard unchained the prisoner.

**2

“You come to me, merciful woman” said he “like the dawn with her morning star after a night of delirious fever.”
“Merciful indeed!” Shyama cried and broke out in a wild <convulsive> laughter, till tears came with a burst and she sobbed and said “There is no stone brick in this prison-tower harder than this woman’s heart.” And clutching the prisoner’s hands she dragged him out of the gates.

On the {V}<B>aruna’s bank {the} sun rose. A boat was waiting at the landing. “Come to the boat with me stranger youth,” Shyama said “only know that I have cut all bonds and I drift in the same boat with you.”
Swiftly the boat glided on. Merrily sang the birds. “Tell me, my love,” asked Vajrasen “what untold wealth did you spend to buy my freedom?” “Hush, not now,” said Shyama.

The morning wore on to noon. Village women had gone back home with their clothes dripping from {the} bath and pitchers filled with water. Morning marketing was over. The village path glared in the sun all lonely. I<N>{n} the warm gusts of the noontide wind Shyama’s veil dropped from her face. Vajrasen murmured in her ears “You freed me from a bond that was brief to bind me in a bond everlasting. How it was done let me know.” The woman drew her veil over her face and said “Not now, my beloved.”

The day waned and it <became> dark{ened.} The breeze died away. The crescent moon feebly glimmered at the edge of the steel-black water.
Shyama sat in the dark, resting her head on the youth’s shoulder. Her hair fell loose on his arms. “It was hard what I did for you, beloved,” she said in a faint whisper

**3

“but harder it is to tell you. I shall be brief. It was the love-sick boy Uttiya, who charged himself with the theft to save you and offered his life to please me. The greatest sin of my life was for the love of you, my best beloved.”

The crescent moon had set. The stillness of the forest was heavy with the sleep of countless birds. Slowly slipped the youth’s arm<s> from the woman’s waist. Silence round <the> them became hard and cold as {a} <+++> {stone.}
Suddenly the woman fell at his fe<+++>{e}t and clung to his knees crying “Forgive me, my lord. Leave it to my God to punish me for my sin.”
Snatching his feet away Vajrasen hoarsely cried “That my life should be bought by the price of a sin, that every breath of mine should be accursed!”
He stood up and leapt on the bank from the boat and entered the forest. He walked on and on till the path closed, and the dense trees, tangled with creepers, stopped him with fearful fantastic gestures.
Tired he sat on the ground. But who was it that followed him in silence the long dark way and stood at his back like a phantom?
“Will you not leave me?” thundered Vajrasen. In a moment the woman fell upon him with an impetuous flood of caresses, with her tumbling hair and trailing robes, with her showering kisses and panting breaths she covered him all over. In a voice choked with pent up tears she said “No, no, I shall never leave you. I have sinned for you. Strike me, kill me, if you will, with your hands.”
The still blackness of the forest shivered for a moment, a horror ran through the twisting roots of trees underground. A groan and a smothered breath rose through the night and a body fell down upon the withered leaves.

**4

*Crossing
*3

The breeze of the night stirs my sails, my songs.
Boatman, take thy seat at the rudder!
My life dances on the waves at the shore, eager to be free.
The day is spent, and silent is the dark; my comrades are away.
Cut the chain! let the boat drift out to sea with the call of stars in the sky.

±{\গীতিমাল্য: ৭৬\
(হাওয়া লাগে গানের পালে)
c.f. Crossing 3.}±

**5a

±{The wind is up
[\Crossing— 3\]}±

**5

*Crossing
*6

{You have done well, cruel one, to set my heart on fire.
For my incense must be burned, my lamp must be lit.}
You have done well, cruel one, to strike me with hard blows.
For my mind must be roused from sleep and its windows opened.
It is all slothfulness and shame this dark night around me.
You have done well, cruel one, to set burning this blackness like a torch with your lightning.

**6a

±{Thou hast done well
Crossing— 6}±

**6

*Crossing
*7

Deliver me from my bonds, my lord.
Deliver me from the timid poverty of heart and free my restless mind from all confusion.
For the night is dark and your pilgrim is blinded. Hold up your lamp.
Deliver me from dark dejection, my lord.
Let your smile light up my sorrows into joy and waken my tired strength from its sleep upon the dust.
For the night is dark, and your pilgrim is blinded, Hold up your lamp.
Deliver me from my proud self, my lord.
My spirit is athirst for a shower of your love.
I lag behind ever counting my losses, show me the way to the hidden treasure.
For the night is dark and your pilgrim is blinded. Hold up your lamp.

±{Crossing— 7}±

**7a

±{See— Deliver me from my own shadows
Crossing— 7}±

**7

*Crossing
*12

Hold your faith firm, my heart, the day {comes,} will ৲surely৲ ৴come<,>৴ <it will>.

Keep the seed of your promise deep in the soil, it will sprout, surely it will.

Those that lie still as a stone will rise and the dumb will speak, surely they will.

The time has come to take up your burdens. Set your sufferings on the crown of your head, they will gladden you, surely they will.

When the hour strikes things will become simple and the pilgr<o>{i}ms will gather in the same path, surely they will.

**8a

±{Crossing- 12}±

**8

*Crossing
*12

Hold your faith firm, my heart, the day will come, surely it will.
Keep the seed of your promise deep in the soil, it will sprout, surely it will.
Those that lie still as a stone will rise and the dumb will speak, surely they will.
The time has come to take up your burdens. Set your sufferings on the crown of your head, they will gladden you, surely they will.
When the hour strikes things will become simple and the pilgr<o>{i}ms will gather in the same path, surely they will.

**9a

±{Crossing— 12}±

**9

Crossing
*13

The twilight hour of the wedding is near.
The sky is festive red.
The birds have sung their last, the winds are at rest on the water.
The twilight hour of the wedding comes with the chirps of crickets.

My day has been spent in idle pla<+++>{y} and many a busy work.
Now sounds the flute of the feast.
The torchlight of the bridegroom is glowing in the west.
Who is there to help me in my toilet?

Spread the carpet in the bridal chamber.
Gather bunches of french tuberose for the bed.
Light near the window the lamp that will burn through the night, and {work} my pink veil with flower border.

The twilight hour of the wedding is near.
The sunset sky is aflame.
The steps are heard from the road.

±{next page}±

**10a

See The Wedding hour is in the twilight
Crossing- 13 (1)

**10

My doors shake in the wind, my heart trembles.
All songs are hushed; for the service is to be read when the twilight hour of the wedding comes.

**11a

See. The Wedding hour is in the twilight
Crossing- 13(2) খেয়া/+++

**11

*Crossing
*14
*Poems
*31

The night is upon me. All noise has ceased.
Only the murmur of the sea comes to me.
All my wishes that wandered all day have come back to my heart.
One lonely lamp is burning in my house in the dark.
The games are over, the waves take their rest in the sea.
The silent peace is in my being.
I shut my eyes and see in my heart the beauty that is beyond all forms.

**12a

±{In the night when noise is tired
Crossing— 14}±

**12

*Crossing
*17

Pick up from the dust this life of mine.
Keep it under your kindly eyes, keep it in the palm of your right hand.
Keep it in the light, keep it in the deathless joy, keep it in the ceaseless good, keep it under your eyes, keep it in the palm of your right hand.

**13a

±{Pick up this life of mine from the dust
Crossing— 17}±

**13

*Crossing
*19

Was it you who came to me that early hour of the day?
The flute was in your hand, the smile <in> {on} your lips.
Wayward was the day of April.
Was it you who came to me?

All my work<s> <were> {was} undone.
Wild <{+++}> {was our} game<s> <you played with me> and the day wore on.
You troubled the water of my heart and swayed the red lotus of love.
My <works> {tasks} were <+++> {left} undone.

Then sleep came to my eyes unaware.
When I woke the dark clouds were in the sky and dry leaves were flying in the wind.
While we two were gather<+++>{i}ng flowers sleep came to my eyes.

±{next page}±

**14a

±{You came to me in the wayward hours
Crossing— 19/1}±

**14

Our games of that day are over. The rain is falling fast.
The roads are desolate; my doors are shut.
<I have> {The floor is} my bed <on the floor> this long lonely night.
Is it you {again} who have <{again}> knocked at my door?
The rain is falling fast.

<Tonight you have come to me as an ancient wanderer.
Your eyes burn dark fire and from your hair the water drips.
You have brought the darkness of the storm with you into my heart.
You have come as an ancient wanderer.

I bow <to> {before} you, <you fearful and silent!> {O dread and silent Lord!} Come to my house.
The marks on your forhead are like red flames.
The iron staff in your hand is clattering against your iron bracelet.
Take whatever I have, my guest.
Come to my house.>

**15a

±{Crossing- 19 (2)}±

**15

*Crossing
*19

Was it you who came to me that early hour of the day?
The flute was in your hand, the smile in your lips.
Wayward was the day of April.
Was it you who came to me?

All my works were undone.
Wild games you played with me and the day wore on.
You troubled the water of my heart and swayed the red lotus of love.
My works were undone.

Then sleep came to my eyes unaware.
When I woke the dark clouds were in the sky and dry leaves were flying in the wind.
While we two were gathering flowers sleep came to my eyes.

±{next page}±

**16a

±{you came to me in the wayward hours (1)
Crossing- 19}±

**16

Our games of that day are over. The rain is falling fast.
The roads are desolate; my doors are shut.
I have my bed on the floor this long lonely night.
Is it you have knocked at my door?
The rain is falling fast.

Tonight you have come to me as an ancient wanderer.
Your eyes burn dark fire and from your hair the water drips.
You have brought the darkness of the storm with you in to my heart.
You have come as an ancient wanderer.

I bow to you, you fearful and silent! Come to my house.
The marks on your forhead are like red flames.
The iron staff in your hand is clattering against your iron bracelet.
Take whatever I have, my guest.
Come to my house.

**17a

±{Crossing 19 (2)}±

**17

*Crossing
*20

The sky is darkening, my love. The day is dim with the rain.

The lightning darts its sidelong glances through tattered clouds, and the forest swings its branches in wild winds like a chained bird beating its wings in despair.

On such a day let come your voice across the dark, lord of my heart.

Let me feel I am not alone when my lamp<p> goes out in the wet gust of wind.

The sorrowing sky has darkly veiled my solitude on all sides<,> to deepen the meaning of your touch about my heart.

±{[\নৈবেদ্য: ৮৫\]
(দুর্দ্দিন ঘনায়ে এল ঘন অন্ধকারে)
c.f. Crossing 20.}±

**18a

±{The day is dim with rain
Crossing— 20}±

**18

*Crossing
*20

The sky is darkening, my love. The day is dim with the rain.

The lightning darts its sidelong glances through tattered clouds, and the forest swings its branches in wild winds like a chained bird beating its wings in despair.

On such a day let come your voice across the dark, lord of my heart.

Let me feel I am not alone when my lamp<p> goes in the wet gust of wind.

The sorrowing sky has darkly veiled my solitude on all sides<,> to deepen the meaning of your touch about my heart.

**19a

±{The day is dim with rain
Crossing— 20}±

**19

*?

Victory be to you, O Death!
Endless is the world, you guide us and we follow you, we know not the way.
We sit under the wayside tree and are slow to leave our games of the moment, when you come and take us up on your arms, cover us with your mantle and carry us to our journey.
We are but a speck of life but it is our wish to spread upon the infinite world.
We look to you to make this hope good, O Death, victory be to you!

**20

*?

Victory be to you, O Death!
Endless is the world, you guide us and we follow you, we {do not} know <not> the way.
We sit under the wayside tree and are slow to leave our games of the moment, when you come and take us up on your arms, cover us with your mantle and carry us to our journey.
We are but a speck of life but it is our <wish> {desire} to spread upon the infinite world.
We look to you to make this hope good, O Death, victory be to you!

±{কল্পনা: বর্ষশেষ (?)
c.f. Crossing: 22. (?)}±

**21

*?

Victory be to you, O Death!
Endless is the world, you guide us and we follow you, we know not the way.
We sit under the wayside tree and are slow to leave our games of the moment, when you come and take us up on your arms, cover us with your mantle and carry us to our journey.
We are but a speck of life but it is our wish to spread upon the infinite world.
We look to you to make this hope good, O Death, victory be to you!

**22

*Crossing
*24

Have you come to me as my sorrow? All the more I must cling to you.
Your face is veiled, my lord. All the more I must see you.
You strike {at} me <as> {with}death {,} hard and cold, and {thus make} my life leap<s> up in{to} a flame.
<Tears flow from my eyes,— let them flow.>
The pain is in my breast to teach me that you are my joy.

**23a

±{Cr. 24}±

**23

*Crossing
*24

Have you come to me as my sorrow? All the more I must cling to you.
Your face is veiled, my lord. All the more I must see you.
You strike me as death hard and cold and my life leaps up in a flame.
Tears flow from my eyes,— let them flow.
The pain is in my breast to teach me that you are my joy.

**24a

±{Cr. 24}±

**24

*Crossing
*25

Yes, yes, strike me more, yet more.
I hid myself and evaded you ever; but now I am caught at last.
Strip me of all that I have.
Finish the game for good,— either you win or I.
I have had my laughter and song in wayside booths and in courtly halls,— let me see how you <can> break my heart and make me weep.

**25a

±{I hide myself
Crossing— 25}±

**25

*Crossing
*25

Yes, yes, strike me more, yet more.
I hid myself and evaded you ever; but now I am caught at last.
Strip me of all that I have.
Finish the game for good,— either you win or I.
I have had my laughter and song in wayside booths and in courtly halls,— let me see how you can break my heart and make me weep.

**26a

±{I hid myself to evade you
Crossing— 25}±

**26

*Crossing
*27

The heat-scorched garden of my heart stands like a beggar spreading its haggard arms {to} <+++> the angry sky.

When will come the whisper of hope to the eagerly waiting boughs, carrying glad murmur from tree to tree?

<When> {And then} will follow the heavy heaps of clouds and the darkness of night will be startled with a sudden shudder of rain<+++>{?}

And in the morning will appear flowers in a <tumultuous> {hopeless}confusion of joy hiding all barren bareness{?}

**27a

±{I am the weary earth of summer
Crossing— 27
(Compared)}±

**27

**Crossing
*27

The heat-scorched garden of my heart stands like a beggar spreading its haggard arms <+++>{t}<+++>{o} the angry sky.

When will come the whisper of hope to the eagerly waiting boughs, carrying glad murmur from tree to tree?

When will follow the heavy heaps of clouds and the darkness of night will be startled with a sudden shudder of rain?

And in the morning will appear flowers in a tumultuous confusion of joy hiding all barren bareness.

**28a

±{I am the weary earth of Summer
Compared with Crossing— 27}±

**28

*Crossing
*31

Some portion of my wealth is in this world, but the rest of it is in my dreams.

O you, ever escaping my touch, <eluding my hope, come in s{e}cret silence,> come, hiding the flame of your lamp.

Come not by the crowded street, for the light beats there <fierce> {rude}and naked.

O stranger, unknown, unheard of, let our neighbours not see you unaware.

I shall know you by the gladness of my soul, by the tears wetting my eyelids.

I shall know you by the <throbbings> {beatings} of my heart when I meet you alone in the dark.

Come by the shadows of the dusk: <come not to the crowded wayfare in the fierce beating +++>

±{কিছু ধন আছে(?)
[\উৎসর্গ: ৩\] (মোর কিছু ধন আছে সংসারে)
[\c. f. Crossing 31\]}±

**29a

±{Only a portion of my gift
Crossing— 31}±

**29

*Crossing
*31

Some portion of my wealth is in this world, but the rest of it is in my dreams.

O you, ever escaping my touch, eluding my hope, come in secret silence; come, hiding the flame of your lamp.

Come not by the crowded street, for the light beats there fierce and naked.

O stranger, unknown, unheard of, let our neighbours not see you unaware.

I shall know you by the gladness of my soul, by the tears wetting my eyelids.

I shall know you by the throbbings of my heart when I meet you alone in the dark.

Come by the shadows of the dusk; come not to the crowded wayfare in the <fierce beating> {rude} light.

**30a

±{Only a portion of my gift
Crossing— 31}±

**30

*Crossing
*33

A trance of delight steals over my limbs. A rosy mist is before my eyes.

Someone has secretly crowned my heart with a <wreath> {garland} of love.

Someone has stolen my being and scattered it all abroad in earth, water and sky.

I know not what game is this with you, my beloved.

I know not if I have found you, or am still seeking you everywhere.

<My joy itself is a sadness, brimming with tears, and separation is a pang of bliss.>

±{(গায়ে আমার পুলক লাগে)
[\গীতাঞ্জলি: ৪২\]}±

**31a

±{Someone has secretly— Cr. 33.}±

**31

*Crossing
*33

A trance of delight steals over my limbs. A rosy mist is before my eyes.

Someone has secretly crowned my heart with a wreath of love.

Someone has stolen my being and scattered it all abroad in earth, water and sky.

I know not what game is this with you, my beloved.

I know not if I have found you, or am still seeking you everywhere.

My joy itself is a sadness, brimming with tears, and separation is a pang of bliss.

**32a

±{Crossing— 33}±

**32

*Crossing
*32

Thou wilt steal my heart some day, my lover.

I hope and I wait.

The stars speak not, they gaze; the moon smiles a smile of a sweet secret. Tears well up to my eyes.

And I hope and I wait.

In the dust of the earth and the blue of the sky, in the flowers and fruits of the forest, in loves of men and women, thou wilt touch me and take me to thine arms.
I
I hope and I wait.

**33a

±{I know you will win my heart
Crossing— 35}±

**33

*Crossing
*39

Did you come <at> <{at}> <the depth of the night,> {when the night was dark,} you who walk in secret?
I did not hear your steps.
No guest had come to my house for l<+++>{o}ng; I kept my doors shut and thought my night would be lonely.
But did you come and see me when I <was sleeping> {slept}, you who walk in secret?

When I opened my eyes I found the darkness had paled round my bed.
I rose up and ran and saw the bolts of my gates had been broken.
Through my wide open doors <+++> winds and light rushed in with their banner of victory.
O <you> ৲unseen৲ ৴warrior৴, none knows when you come and conquer.

±{next page}±

**34a

±{No guest had come (1)— Cr. 39}±

**34

I was ever a prisoner in my house<.>{.} Now you keep me captive in the open.
When <all> the doors were shut my heart planned to escape and wander.
Now by my broken gate <I sit still and wait for your coming.> my freedom keeps me bound.
O my friend, none <knows> {knows of} your secret visits when you come and touch <one’s> {the} heart.

±{(মুক্তি পাশ— খেয়া)
Crossing— 39}±

**35a

±{No guest had come (2)— Cr. 39}±

**35

*Crossing
*39

Did you come <at> <{+++}> <the death of the night,> {when the night was dark,} you who walk in secret?
I did not hear your steps.
No guest had come to my house for long; I kept my doors shut and thought my night would be lonely.
But did you come and see me when I was sleeping, you who walk in secret?

When I opened my eyes I found the darkness had paled round my bed.
I rose up and ran and saw the bolts of my gates had been broken.
Through my wide open doors your winds and light rushed in with their banner of victory.
O you warrior unseen, none knows when you come and conquer.

±{next page}±

**36a

±{[\(Dupli)\] (1) Cr. 39}±

**36

I was ever a prisoner in my house<.>{,} Now you keep me captive in the open.
When all the doors were shut my heart planned to escape and wander.
Now by my broken gate I sit still and wait for your coming. my freedom keeps me bound.
O my friend, none knows your secret visits when you come and touch one’s heart.

±{ওগো নিশীথে কখন এসেছিলে
মুক্তি পাশ— খেয়া
Crossing— 39}±

**37a

±{(Dupli)
No guest had come (2)— Cr. 39}±


**37

*Crossing
*40

Put out the lamps, my ≮heart≯ <{+++}>, the lamps of the night.

Open all your doors. The morning light is abroad.

Leave your earthen lamps to crumble into dust.

String not your <harp> {lute}, my <{+++}> ≮heart≯, your broken <harp.> {lute.}

Come out and stand silent.

Listen, the sky and light are singing your songs.

Leave your <harp> {lute} behind in the corner of your room.

**38a

±{Crossing- 40}±

**38

*Crossing
*40

Put out the lamps, my heart, the lamps of the night.

Open all your doors. The morning light is abroad.

Leave your earthen lamps to crumble into dust.

String not your harp, my heart, your broken harp.

Come out and stand silent.

Listen, the sky and light are singing your songs.

Leave your harp behind in the corner of your room.

**39a

±{Crossing- 40}±

**39

*Crossing
*42

Free me as free <is> {are} the birds of the wilds.
Free me as free is the deluge of rain and <{as is}> the storm that shakes its locks and rushes on to its plundering raid.
Free me as free is the forest fire and <as> <{is}> the thunder that laughs loud and hurls defiance before it.

**40a

±{Cr. 42}±

**40

*Crossing
*42

Free me as free <is> {are} the birds of the wilds.
Free me as free is the deluge of rain and {as} the storm that shakes its locks and rushes on to its plundering raid.
Free me as free is the forest fire and as the thunder that laughs loud and hurls defiance before it.

**41a

±{Cr. 42}±

**41

*Crossing
*43

You called me by my name<.>{,} {but I did not hear you.}
<I +++ slumber +++ the shadows of the +++.>
You <struck> {shook} me with your <+++> hands and <wakened me> {I woke up} in tears.
I <found> {saw} the <+++> {sun rise} at the skyline of my awakening.
I found that the floodtide had set in from the <ocean, and the barrier +++ broken down unaware.> {sea,} <I +++> <{and +++}> the wind blowing towards <you> {the harbour} and my boat <was> {standing} ready to set up its sails.

**42a

±{When you called me I was asleep
Crossing— 43}±

**42

*Crossing
*43

You called me by my name.
I had sunk in deep slumber and the shadows of the world gathered round me in thick folds. I heard you not.
You struck me with your own hands and wakened me in tears.
I found the sunrise land of my life aglow and the morning light spreading at the skyline of my awakening.
I found that the floodtide had set in from the ocean and the barriers had broken down unaware.
I felt the wind blowing towards you and my boat was ready to set up its sails.

**43a

±{When you called me I was asleep
Crossing— 43}±

**43

*Crossing
*44

Dreams of dark night have vanished. The chain of sleep has snapped.

I am heart to heart with the world. My life is in full bloom.

Thou hast burst open my doors and stood before me.

My heart has offered thee at thy feet its surrender.

The morning light from the sky has stretched its arms across to me and at the broken prison gates the sky rings with paeans of thy victory.

±{cf. Crossing— 44}±

**44a

±{Rejoice!/ For Night’s fetters have broken
See— <{When in your death you died}>
Crossing— 44}±

**44

*Crossing
*45

I see you seated upon the white carpet of the morning, your splendour spreading upon the sky and the earth, the sun shining in your crown, the stars dropping at your feet like flowers, and the light singing of hope and love from your golden gate.

±{Crossing— 45}±

**45a

±{See— In this moment I see you seated
Crossing— 45}±

**45

*Crossing
*45

I see you seated upon the white carpet of the morning, your splendour spreading o<+++>{v}er sky and earth, the sun shining in your crown, the stars dropping at your feet like flowers, and the light singing of hope and love from your golden gate.

±{Crossing— 45}±

**46a

±{See— In this moment I see you seated
Crossing— 45}±

**46

*Crossing
*45

Ceaseless is the fountain of your joy.
Your words flow in the infinite sky and rhyme in the stars.
You are the one master in this hall. Crowds come and bow to you and sit speechless.

±{cf Crossing— 45}±

**47a

±{In this moment I see you seated
See— <Bring beauty and order with my forlorn life>
Crossing— 45}±

**47

*Crossing
*46

Rejoice, my heart, the guest of my autumn has come.
Sing of the silence of the sky, the peace of the dew-<cool>{fresh} air and rejoice.
Join in the feast of the fullness in the fields, in the flow of the flooding streams, and rejoice.
Lift up your eyes to his face,— open your door, and go out hand <to> {in} hand into the road with him.
For the guest of my autumn has come. Rejoice, my heart.

±{[\গীতাঞ্জলি: ৩৮\]
c.f. Crossing 46.
শরতে আজ কোন অতিথি (?)}±

**48a

±{My guest has come to my door
Crossing— 46}±

**48

*Crossing
*46

Rejoice, my heart, the guest of my autumn has come.
Sing of the silence of the sky, the peace of the dew-cool air and rejoice.
Join in the feast of the fullness in the fields, in the flow of the flooding streams, and rejoice.
Lift up your eyes to his face,— open your door, and go out hand <to> {in} hand into the road with him.
For the guest of my autumn has come. Rejoice, my heart.

**49a

±{My guest has come to my door
Crossing— 46}±

**49

*Crossing
*48

Thou {hast} taken him to thine arms and crowned him with death, he who ever waited outside like a beggar at the feast of life.

Thou hast put thy right hand of mercy on his failures and set on his forhead the weath of peace that cools life’s thirst-giving heat.

Thou hast made {him} one with all Kings and with the <old> {ancient} world of wisdom.

**50a

±{Crossing— 48}±

**50

*Crossing
*50

I was with the crowd on the road.

Where the road ended I found myself alone with you.

I have seen much, borne much, sung many a tune.

Now the road has ended, I am alone with you.

I knew not when I had come to the close of my day.

I looked back and found my companions had left me.

I knew not when silently your doors had opened and I stood surprised at the music of my own heart.

Are there still signs of tears in my eyes?

The bed has been made, the lamp has been lit, we are alone, you and I.

But are there still signs of tears in my eyes?

±{Crossing— 50}±

**51a

±{I was with the crowd when I was in the road
Crossing— 50}±

**51

*Crossing
*52

You have given me much, but I ask for more.
You have given me draughts of water to drink, but I must have the spring for my thirst.
You have brought me to the gate of this world of joys, lead me to the hall of the master.
You have given me love in an endless measure— give me my lover.

±{(অনেক দিয়েছ নাথ)
(ব্রহ্মসঙ্গীত) [\গী.বি. ১৪৩\]
c.f. Crossing 52.
(গীতিমাল্য: ৭৮)}±

**52a

±{Much have you given me
Crossing— 52}±

**52

*Crossing
*52

You have given me much, but I ask for more.
You have given me draughts of water to drink, but I must have the spring for my thirst.
You have brought me to the gate of this world of joys, lead me to the hall of the master.
You have given me love in an endless measure— give me my lover.

**53a

±{Much have you given to me
Crossing— 52}±

**53

*Crossing
*54

Stand before me.
Let your eyes touch my heart.
Stand in yonder sky in the ineffable light— my being cries in the dark.
This earth sits and looks for you— make her eyes glad and her smile sweet.
She has spread her green skirt on the dust, stand upon it.
Stand in my world, in my life.
Stand there where my heart watches alone.

**54a

±{Crossing— 54}±

**54

*Crossing
*56

You have kept yourself hidden in your own glory, my King.

Even the grain of sand and the {dew}drop <of dew> are more proudly apparent than yourself.

The world unabashed calls everything its own that is yours— yet the thief is never brought to shame.

You care not to make yourself known and <that> {this} give{s} glory to love.

For her worship is unbidden and her search is undemanded.

**55a

±{You hide yourself in your own glory
Crossing— 56}±

**55

*Crossing
*56

You have kept yourself hidden in your own glory, my King.

Even the grain of sand and the drop of dew are more proudly apparent than yourself.

The world unabashed calls everything its own that is yours— yet the thief is never brought to shame.

You care not to make yourself known and that gives glory to love.

For her worship is unbidden and her search is undemanded.

**56a

±{You hid yourself in your own glory
Crossing— 56}±

**56

*Crossing
*57

Last night I made revel with friends.

When I came back home the cool of the midnight quieted the dance in my blood.

My heart became silent like a deserted theatre with its lamps <all> out.

I looked above and in a moment my mind crossed the desert of the dark and stood alone among <the> stars.

Instantly I saw that we <were> {had been noisily} playing in the courtyard of your silent palace unafraid.

**57a

±{When from the house of past
Crossing— 57}±

**57

*Crossing
*57

Last night I made revel with friends.

When I came back home the cool of the midnight quieted the dance in my blood.

My heart became silent like a deserted theatre with its lamps all out.

I looked above and in a moment my mind crossed the desert of the dark and stood alone among the stars.

Instantly I saw that we were playing in the courtyard of your silent palace unafraid.

**58a

±{When from the house of feast—
Crossing— 57}±

**58

*Crossing
*58

I was musing last night in bed of my spendthrift days, when I thought you spoke to me,—

“In your careless career of youth you had every door wide open in your house <by the crossroads>.

The world went in and out as it pleased,— the world with its dust<s> and doubts, and with its music.

And with it I came to you an hundred times unknown and unbidden.

Had you kept shut your doors in holy seclusion how could I have found my way into your life?”

**59a

±{Crossing— 58}±

**59

*Crossing
*58

I was musing last night in bed of my spendthrift days, when I thought you spoke to me,—

“In your careless career of youth you had every door wide open in your house by the crossroads.

The world went in and out as it pleased,— the world with its dust<s> and doubts, and with its music.

And with it I came to you an hundred times unknown and unbidden.

Had you kept shut your doors in holy seclusion how could I have found my way into your life?”

**60a

±{Crossing— 58}±

**60

*Crossing
*59

None needs be thrust aside to make room for you, my lord.

When love prepares her seat for you she prepares it for all.

Where the earthly king appears, guards {shout and} keep <out> {away} the crowd, but when you come, <my King,> {the path opens and} the whole world comes in your wake.

±{কারে দূর নাহি কর (নৈবেদ্য— ৩৪)
Crossing— 59}±

**61a

±{Crossing— 59}±

**61

*Crossing
*59

None needs be thrust aside to make room for you, my lord.

When love prepares her seat for you she prepares it for all.

Where the earthly king appears, guards keep out the crowd, but when you come, my King, the whole world comes in your wake.

±{কারে দূর নাহি কর (নৈবেদ্য— ৩৪)
Crossing— 59}±

**62a

±{Crossing— 59}±

**62

*Crossing
*60

We know him, only him. We have made him our companion.
<{In company}> With him we take our cattle to the field, with him we play the flute.
For him we spread the seat in the shade of the tree.
He sits at the helm when we sail our boat. With him we rock on the waves in joy.
For him we light our lamp when the work of our day is done.

**63a

±{With his morning songs he knocks
Crossing— 60}±

**63

*Crossing
*60

We know him, only him. We have made him our companion.
With him we take our cattle to the field, with him we play the flute.
For him we spread the seat in the shade of the tree.
He sits at the helm when we sail our boat. With him we rock on the waves in joy.
For him we light our lamp when the work of our day is done.

**64a

±{With his morning songs he knocks
Crossing— 60}±

**64

*Poems
*43

Our master is a worker and we work with him.
Boisterous is his mirth and we laugh with his laughter.
He beats his drum and we march.
He sings and we dance in its tune.
His play is of life and death. We stake our joys and sorrows and play with him.
His call comes like the rumbling of clouds; we set out to cross oceans and hills.

±{cf Crossing— 60, 61}±

**65a

±{Our master worker works at every job
Crossing 60, 61
See— 1) With his morning songs he knocks at our door
Crossing— 60
2) Run to his side as his comrades where he works
Crossing— 61}±

**65

*Crossing
*62

When bells sounded in your temple in the morning, men and women hastened down the woodland path with their offerings of fresh flowers.

But I lay on the grass in the shade and let them <all> pass by.

I think it was well that I was idle. For then my flowers were in bud.

At the end of the day they have bloomed, and I go to my evening worship.

**66a

±{Crossing— 62}±

**66

*Crossing
*62

When bells sounded in your temple in the morning, men and women hastened down the woodland path with their offerings of fresh flowers.

But I lay on the grass in the shade and let them all pass by.

I think it was well that I was idle. For then my flowers were in bud.

At the end of the day they have bloomed, and I go to my evening worship.

**67a

±{Crossing— 62}±

**67

*Crossing
*63

The {red} road that passes by our village makes me restless.
My heart stretches {out} its arms and <wants> {longs} to follow the beckon of its dust.
It draws me out of my home and hearth, it <clings to> {touches} my feet at every step with i<+++>{t}s dumb entreaty.
It would drag me on I know not to what abandonment, to what gain, to what surprise of distress!
I know not where its windings end— but the red road that passes by our village makes me restless.

±{গান (১৩১৪)
[\গী.বি. পৃ: ২৯২\]
c.f. Crossing 63.
গ্রামছাড়া ঐ রাঙামাটির পথ}±

**68a

±{My King’s road that lies—
Crossing— 63}±

**68

*Crossing
*63

The road that passes by our village makes me restless.
My heart stretches its arms and wants to follow the beckon of its dust.
It draws me out of my home and hearth, it clings to my feet at every step with its dumb entreaty.
It would drag me on I know not to what abandonment, to what gain, to what surprise of distress!
I know not where its windings end— but the red road that passes by our village makes me restless.

**69a

±{My King’s road that lies—
Crossing— 63}±

**69

*Crossing
*65

It comes from you, this impulse of song in my heart.

Like the flowering rapture of spring it is a gift from your hands.

I bring these flowers of music to you as my own.

You smile and accept them and never hurt my joy of pride.

If their frail petals fall to the dust and disappear I will not grieve.

For in <thy> {your} hand disappearance is not loss and the fugitive moment that blossoms out in beauty crowns the life for ever.

±{ফুলের মত আপনি ফুটাও গান
(গীতাঞ্জলি— ৯৭)
Crossing— 65}±

**70a

±{My songs are the same
Crossing- 65}±

**70

*Crossing
*66

My King, you have charged me with the task of playing the flute {i}<o>n the balcony over your palace gate.

I sit and look from there upon the crowd and watch them come and go.

With burdens on their shoulders they run. They never stop, never look about them.

In vain flowers bloom in your garden and birds sing; they rush on, I know not to what goal.

Then I take up my flute and play.

They forget their errands for the moment and lay their burdens <on> {in} the dust.

They see anew the ever old, and find afresh what was near to them, and say,

“Indeed, the flowers are in bloom and birds sing.”

<Keep me ever in this post of ±<{as your}>± <thy> flute-player!

Then they who bear the burdens of life voiceless, will stop for a moment on their path, and sit and wonder before the balcony <of> {over} your palace gate.>

**71a

±{My King, thou hast called me
Crossing— 66}±

**71

*Crossing
*66

My King, you have charged me with the task of playing the flute on the balcony over your palace gate.

I sit and look from there upon the crowd and watch them come and go.

With burdens on their shoulders they run. They never stop, never look about them.

In vain flowers bloom in your garden and birds sing; they rush on, I know not to what goal.

Then I take up my flute and play.

They forget their errands for the moment and lay their burdens on the dust.

They see anew the ever old, and find afresh what was near to them, and say,

“Indeed, the flowers are in bloom and birds sing.”

Keep me ever in this post of <thy> {your} flute-player!

Then they who bear the burdens of life voiceless, will stop for a moment on their path, and sit and wonder before the balcony of your palace gate.

**72a

±{My King, thou hast called me
Crossing— 66}±

**72

*Crossing
*68

There are <numerous> <{+++}> {many} strings of many pitches in your [\vina\], let me <add> {stretch} my string among them.

Then when you smite your chords, my heart will break its silence, my life will mingle in your song.

Amidst your <numberless> {many} stars, let me place my little lamp.

In the dance of the twinkling light{s} my heart will throb in time, and the ray of my life will touch your <+++> {smiling face.}

**73a

±{Crossing— 68}±

**73

*Crossing
*68

There are numerous strings of many pitches in your [\vina\], let me add my string among them.

Then when you smite your chords, my heart will break its silence, my life will mingle in your song.

Amidst your numberless stars, let me place my little lamp.

In the dance of the twinkling light my heart will throb in time, and the ray of my life will touch your smiling face.

**74a

±{Crossing— 68}±

**74

*Crossing
*76

I looked into your face and launched my boat <in> {through} the dark.

Lo, the dawn reddens and the [\ashoka\] is in bloom.

Yet, should the light fail and flowers wither, I shall look upon your face and sail onwards.

Your eyes fell on me and made a signal to me in silence. My heart leapt up <+++> with pride in a moment.

Hark, the bells ring loud, and the boat is heavy with its golden load.

Yet <if> {were} the bells <become> silent and my boat <becomes> empty, I <shall> {would} give up my pride <and> {but} sail on.

<Not a word will I ask> {No question will I put to} you, not a moment will I <tarry behind.> {hang back.}

The sails have filled, the pennons flap gaily in the wind.

Yet, <if> {though} the sails hang empty and pennons droop{,} <down,> <if> {though} the boat never reach<es> the shore <not a word will I ask you.> {no question will I put to you.}

±{[\উৎসর্গ: ২\]
(কেবল তব মুখের পানে)
c.f. Crossing 76.}±

**75a

±{I felt I saw your face
Crossing— 76}±

**75

*Crossing
*76

I looked into your face and launched my boat in the dark.

Lo, the dawn reddens and the [\ashoka\] is in bloom.

Yet, should the light fail and flowers wither, I shall look upon your face and sail onwards.

Your eyes fell on me and made a signal to me in silence. My heart leapt up <+++> with pride in a moment.

Hark, the bells ring loud, and the boat is heavy with its golden load.

Yet if the bells become silent and my boat becomes empty, I shall give up my pride and sail on.

Not a word will I ask you, not a moment will I tarry behind.

The sails have filled, the pennons flap gaily in the wind.

Yet, if the sails hang empty and pennons droop down, if the boat never reaches the shore not a word will I ask you.

**76a

±{I felt I saw your face
Crossing— 76}±

**76

*Crossing
*77

“Traveller, where do you go?”
“I go to bathe in the sea.
The dawn is reddening, the tree-bordered path is fragrant.
I go to bathe in the sea.”

“Where is that sea, tell me, traveller?”
“There where the river’s course is ended; from where rises the sun and where it takes its rest, the sea is there.”

<“How many are they who go with you?”
“I know not how to count them.
They are travelling all night with their lamps lit, and they are singing all day through land and water.
I know not how to count them.”>
“How far is the sea, <do you know?”> {O traveller.”}
“How far is it, we all ask.
The roar of its water swells in the sky and it seems near at hand.
Then comes the awful silence.
How far is the sea, I ask.”

±{next page}±

**77a

±{Crossing— 77 (P— 1)}±

**77

“Traveller, the sun is waxing strong.”
“Yes, the journey is long and grievous.
Sing, who are weary! Sing, who are timid of heart! Sing the triumphant song!
Let the sky grow fierce and relentless!”

“What if the night overtakes you?”
“I shall lay myself down by the road and sleep.
When the merciful light breaks in the east and early birds sing I will wake in the new dawn of morning and take my dive into the sea.”

**78a

±{Crossing— 77 (P-2)}±

**78

*Crossing
*77

“Traveller, where do you go?”
“I go to bathe in the sea.
The dawn is reddening, the tree-bordered path is fragrant.
I go to bathe in the sea.”
“Where is that sea, tell me, traveller?”
“There where the river’s course is ended; from where rises the sun and where it takes its rest, the sea is there.”
“How many are they who go with you?”
“I know not how to count them.
They are travelling all night with their lamps lit, and they are singing all day through land and water.
I know not how to count them.”
“How far is the sea, do you know?”
“How far is it, we all ask.
The roar of its water swells in the sky and it seems near at hand.
Then comes the awful silence.
How far is the sea, I ask.”

±{next page}±

**79a

±{(Dupli)
Crossing— 77 (P— 1)}±

**79

“Traveller, the sun is waxing strong.”
“Yes, the journey is long and grievous.
Sing, who are weary! Sing, who are timid of heart! Sing the triumphant song!
Let the sky grow fierce and relentless!”
“What if the night overtakes you?”
“I shall lie myself down by the road and sleep.
When the merciful light breaks in the east and early birds sing I will wake in the new dawn of morning and take my dive into the sea.”

**80a

±{(Dupli)
Crossing— 77 (P— 2)}±

**80

*Blank Page

**81

*Crescent Moon
*Baby’s Way

If baby only <cares> {wanted to} he <can> {could} fly up to Heaven this moment.
<Is it> {It is} {not} for nothing that he does not leave us.<?>
He loves to rest his head on mother’s bosom and cannot ever bear to lose <her> sight {of her.}

Baby knows all manner of wise words though few on earth can understand their meaning.
Is it for nothing that he never <cares> {wants} to speak?

It is <the> ৲his heart{’s} <of>৲ ৴sole desire৴ is to learn mother’s words from mother’s lips.
That is why he looks so innocent.

Baby had a heap of gold and pearls, yet {he} <be>came like a beggar on<to> this earth.
<Was it> {It is not} for nothing he came in such a disguise?
This dear little naked mendicant pretends an utter helplesslessness {in order} to beg for mother’s wealth of love.

Baby was so free <of any bond> {from every tie} in the land of the tiny crescent moon.
{It} {w}<W>as <it> {not} for nothing he gave up his <right of> freedom?
He knows that there is room for endless joy in <the> mother’s little corner of a heart and it is sweeter far than liberty to be caught and pressed in her dear arms.

Baby never knew how to cry. He dwelt in the land of perfect bliss.
<Is it> {It is not} for nothing he {has} cho<o>se{n} to shed tears. <?>
It is with the smile of his dear face he draws <his> mother’s yearning heart to him, yet his tiny cries <of> {over} little troubles <that> weave the double bond of pity and love.

**82a

±{Baby’s Way— P.7}±

**82

*The Crescent Moon
*The Beginning

“Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?” the baby asked its mother.
She answered half crying, half laughing, {and} clasping the baby to her breast,—
“You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.
You were in the dolls of my childhood’s games; and when with clay I made {the} image of my god every morning I made and unmade you then.
You were en<thro>{shri}ned with our household <duty> {deity}, in his worship I worshipped you.
In all my hopes and my loves, in my life in the life of my mother you have lived.
In the lap of the deathless Sprit who rules our home you have been <nourished> {nursed} for ages.
When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals you hovered as a fragrance about it.
<It was> your <own> tender softness <that> bloomed in my youthful limbs, like <the> {a} glow in the sky before the sunrise.
<You> Heaven’s first pet, co-<aged>{aeval} with the dawn of creation, you {have} floated <through> {down} the current of {the} world{’s} life and <landed in +++> at last {you have stranded on my heart}.
As I gaze on your face the mystery over<comes>{whelms} me{;} <that> you who belong to all have become mine.
<Lest I should lose> {For fear of losing <you>} you I hold you tight to my breast. What <snare of maya is this that> {magic} has <that> en<trapped>{snared} the world’s treasure in these slender arms of mine?

**83a

±{The Beginning— P—15}±

**83

*The Crescent Moon
*Baby’s World

I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby’s own world.
I know that its stars talk to him and sky <bends down on> {stoops over to} his face and <tempts> {beguiles} him with {its clouds and} rainbows <that are meaningless>.
Those who pretend that they are dumb and look as if they never <can> {could} move, stealthily come to his window with their stories <and colour boxes.> {or with} <{+++}> {trays crowded with bright colours.}

I wish I could travel by the road that <goes> {runs} across <the> baby’s mind {and out} beyond all limits <of things>;
Where messengers r<a>{u}n errands for no cause from the kingdoms of <K>{k}ings of no history;
Where Reason <flies kites of its laws and> <{+++}> {lets her laws be flown as kites} {and} Truth sets free facts from their fetters.

**84a

±{Baby’s World— P— 17}±

**84

*The Crescent Moon
*Defamation

Why are those tears in your eyes, my child?
O, is it not horrid of them to be always chiding you for nothing?
You have stained your fingers and face with ink while writing— is it for that they call you dirty?
O, fie upon them. Would they dare to call the full moon dirty because it has smudged its face with ink?

For every little trifle they blame you, my child. They are ready to find fault for nothing.
You tore your clothes while playing— is it for that they call you untidy?
O, fie upon them! What would they call an autumn morning that smiles through its ragged clouds?

Take no heed of what they say to you, my child.
They <pile up> {make long} lists of your misdeeds.
<Your> {Everybody knows how much you} love <for all> sweet things <is quite well known>— is <it for> that {why} they call you greedy?
O, fie upon them! Indeed, what {then} would they <call> {call all of} us <all> who love you?

**85a

±{Defamation— P.20— 21}±

**85

*The Crescent Moon
*The Judge

Say of him what you please but I know my child’s failings.
<Not> ৲I {do not} love him৲ ৴because he is good <that>৴ ≮but≯ because he is <the> {my} little child.
How can you know how dear he <could> {can} be when you try to weigh his merits <and> {against} his faults?
When I must punish him he comes all the closer to my being.
When I <make> {cause} his tears to come my heart weeps with him.
It is I alone who am called to blame and punish, for he only may chastise who loves.

**86a

±{The Judge— P.22}±

*The Gardener
*61

<Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let the love lose itself into memory and paid into songs.
Let the flight in the sky end in thef folding in the wings in the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O beautiful end, for a moment, and say your last word in silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp upon your path of departure.>

**86

**86

*The Crescent Moon
*Playthings

±{The player}±

Child, how happy you are sitting on the dust, playing with a broken twi<n>{g} all the morning.
(I smile at your play, <at> {with} that little bit of broken {a} twig.)
I am busy with my accounts, <piling> {adding} figures upon figures for hours.
Perhaps you glance at me and think, “What a stupid game to spoil your morning with!”
Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud pies.
I seek out costly playthings and gather lumps of gold and silver.
<What> {With} whatever you find you create your glad golden games, I spend both my time and my strength over <all the> things I never can get.
I struggle with my frail canoe to cross the sea of desire <and I know not that it is a play.> {and do not realize that I am playing.}

**87a

±{Playthings— P.23}±

**87

*The Crescent Moon
*The Astronomer

{The astronomer}

I <just> {only} said, “When in the evening the round full moon gets entangled among the branches of that [\Kadam\] tree couldn’t somebody catch it?”
But [\dada\]*↓*elder brother↓ laughed and said, “Baby, you are the silliest child I have {ever} known. The moon is ever so far from us, how could anybody catch it?”
I said, “[\Dada\], you are absurd! When mother looks out of her window and smiles down at <us when we> {our} play you call her far away?”
Still [\dada\] said, “You are a stupid child! But, baby, where could you find a net big enough to catch the moon with?”
I said, “Surely you could catch it with your hands.”
But [\dada\] laughed and said, “You are the silliest child I have known. <If it would only> {Were it to} come nearer, you <c>{w}ould see how big the moon is.”
I said, “[\Dada\], what nonsense they learn at your school! When mother bends her face down to kiss us does her face look very big?
But still [\dada\] says, “You are a stupid child.”

**88a

±{The Astronomer— P.25}±

**88

*The Crescent Moon
*Clouds and Waves

Mother, <those> {the folk} who live <among> {up in} the clouds, they call {out to} me <and say>—
“We play from <the time> we wake till the day<’s> end<.>{s.}
We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon.”
I ask, “But, how am I to get {up} to you?”
They answer, “Come to the edge of the <edge of the> earth, lift up your hands to the sky, and you will be taken up {in}to the clouds.”
“My mother is waiting for me at home,” I say. “How can I leave her and come?”
Then they smile and float away.
But I know a nicer game than that, mother.
I shall be the cloud and you the moon.
I shall cover you with both my hands, and our balcony will be the blue sky.

The<y> {folk} who live in the waves call {out to} me <and say>,—
“We sing from morning till evening; on and on we travel and <don’t> know {not} where we pass.”
I ask, “But, how am I to join you?”
They tell me, “Come to the edge of the shore and stand with your eyes tightly shut and you will be carried out upon the waves.”
I say, “My mother always wants me at home in the evening— how can I leave her and go?”
Then they smile{,} <and> dance and pass by.
But I know a better game than that.
I myself will be the waves and you become a strange shore.
I shall roll on and on and on, and break upon your lap with laughter.
And no one in the world will know where we both are.

**89a

±{Clouds and Waves P.27}±

**89

*The Crescent Moon
*The Champa Flower

Supposing <⋎⋎> I become a [\champa\] flower {⋎just for fun⋎} growing on a branch high up on that tree and I shake in the wind with laughter and dance upon the newly budding leaves, would you know me, mother <as your child>?”
You would call, “Baby, where are you?” and I <w>{sh}ould laugh to myself and keep quite quiet.
I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work.
When after your bath{, with wet hair} <you> spread {on} your <wet hair on your> shoulders, <and by> {you walk through} the shadow of the champa tree <you walk> to the little court where you say your prayers, you would notice the scent of the flower but <you would> not know {that} it came from me.
When after the midday meal you sit at the window reading Ramayana, and the {tree’s} shadow <of that tree> falls <on> {over} your hair and <on> your lap, I <will> {should} fling my wee little shadow onto the page of your book, just where you were reading.
But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your little child?
When in the evening you go to the cowshed with the lighted lamp in your hand, I <w>{sh}ould suddenly drop onto the earth again and become your own baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story.
<You would ask>, “Where have you been, you naughty child?”
“I won’t tell you, mother,” <I would say.> {that, what you and I should say then.}

**90a

±{The Champa Flower— P.29}±

**90

*The Crescent Moon
*Fairyland

If people came to know where my King’s palace is it would vanish into the air.
The walls are of white silver and the roof of glittering gold.
The Queen lives in the <tower of the> {palace with} seven wings, and she wears a gem that cost all the wealth of <the> seven kingdoms.
But <I will> {let me} tell you, mother, in a whisper where my King’s palace is.
It is at the corner of our terrace where the pot of the [\tulsi\] plant stands.

The princess lies sleeping on the far away shore of the seven impassable seas.
There is none in the world who can find her <out> but myself.
She has bracelets on her arms and {pearl} drops in her ears; her hair sweeps down upon the floor.
She will wake when I touch her with my magic wand and jewels will <drop> {fall} from her lips when she smiles.
But <I will> {let me} whisper in your ear, mother: She <it> is <in> {there in} the corner of our terrace where the pot of the [\tulsi\] plant stands.

When it is time for you to go to the river for your bath, step up to that terrace on the roof.
I sit on the corner where the shadows of the walls meet together.
Only puss is allowed to come with me, for she knows where the barber in the story lives.
But <I will> {let me} whisper, mother, in your ear where the barber of the story lives.
It is at the corner of the terrace where the pot of the [\tulsi\] plant stands.

**91a

±{Fairyland— P.31}±

**91

*The Crescent Moon
*Paper Boats

I float my paper boats one by one, day by day, <in> {down} the running stream.
{In black letters} I write <upon them> my name {on them} and the name of the village where I live <in big black letters>.
I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and know who I am.
I load my little boats with [\shiuli\] flowers which I gather from our garden <in the> {at} dawn, and I hope when the day is done <these> {the+++} flowers <of the morning> will safely reach the night.
I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky and see the cloudlets setting their white bulging sails.
I know not what playmate of mine in the sky <floats> {sends} them <in> {down} the air to race with my boats!
When it is night I bury my face in my arms <. I> {and I} dream that my paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars:
<And> <t>{T}he fairies of sleep are sailing <on> {in} them <laden with baskets> {and the lading is their baskets full} of dreams.

**92a

±{Paper Boats— P.38-39
Day by day...}±

**92

*The Crescent Moon
*The Sailor

The boat of the boatman Madhu is moored at the wharf of Rajgunj.
It is uselessly laden with jute and has been lying there idle for ever so long.
If he would only lend me his boat I <will> {should} man it with a{n} hundred oars, and <sail> {rig} it <with> {for} sails five<,> {or} six <and> {or} seven.
I <w>{sh}ould never steer her to stupid markets.
I should only sail the seven <oceans> {seas} and the thirteen rivers of <the> fairyland.

But, mother, you won’t weep for me in a corner.
I am not going into the forest like <the> Ram{a}chandra <not> to come back <for> {only after} fourteen years.
I shall become the prince of the story and fill my boat with whatever I like.
I shall <only> take my friend Ashu with me. <and> {We shall} merrily sail across the seven <oceans> {seas} and the thirteen rivers of <the> fairyland.

We shall set sail in the early morning light.
When at noonti<m>{d}e you are bathing at the pond we shall be in the land of a strange king.
We shall pass the fording of [\Tirpurni\], and leave behind us the desert of Tepantar.
When we come back it will <just> be getting dark and I <will> {shall} tell you <about> {of} all that we have seen.
I shall only cross the seven <oceans> {seas} and the thirteen rivers of the fairyland.

**93a

±{The Sailor— P.40-41}±

**93

*The Crescent Moon
*Sympathy

If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear, would you say “<n>{N}o” to me if I tried to eat from your dish?
Would you drive me off saying to me, “Get away you naughty little puppy?”
Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call me and never let you feed me any more.

If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby, mother dear, would you keep me chained lest I {should} fly away?
Would you shake your finger at me and say, “What an ungrateful wretch of a bird! It is gnawing at its chain day and night?”
Then, go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods, I will never let you take me in your arms again.

**94a

±{Sympathy— P.49}±

*Gardener
*12

<If you must be busy and fill your pitcher, come, O come to my lake.
The water will cling round your feet and babble its secret.
The shadows>

**94

*The Crescent Moon
*Twelve O’clock

Mother, I <do> ৲want৲ ৴so৴ to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my book all the morning.
You say it is only twelve o’clock<.>{,} <But> {and} suppose it isn’t any later, can’t you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve o’clock?
I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of that rice-field, and the old fisherwoman is gathering herbs for her supper by the side of the pond.
I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing darker under the [\madar\] tree and the water in the pond looks shiney black.
If twelve o’clock can come <at> {in the} night <+++>, why can’t the night come when it is <only> twelve o’clock?

**95a

±{Twelve O’clock— P.57
Mother, I do want}±

**95

*The Crescent Moon
*Authorship

You say that father writes a lot of books, but, what he writes I do not understand.
He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really make out what he meant?
What nice stories, mother, you can tell us. Why can’t father write like that, I wonder?
Did he never hear from his own mother stories of giants and fairies and princesses?
Has he forgotten all of them, you say?
Often when he gets late for his bath <+++> you {have to} go and call him a{n} hundred times.
You wait and keep his dishes warm for him, but, he goes on writing and forgets.
Father always plays at making books.
If <once> {ever} I go to play in father’s room, you come and call me, “what a naughty child.”
If I make the slightest noise, you say, “Dont you see that father’s at his work?”
What’s the fun of always writing and writing?
When I take up father’s pen or pencil and write upon his book just as he does,— a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i,— why do you get cross with me, then, mother?
<Not> ৲you {never} say৲ ৴a word৴ when father writes.
When my father wastes such heaps of paper, mother, you don’t seem to mind at all.
But, if I take only one to make a boat with, you say, “Child, ৲<so> {how} troublesome৲ ৴you are৴!”
What do you think of father’s spoiling papers with black marks all over on both sides?

**96a

±{Authorship— P.58-59}±

**96

*The Crescent Moon
*The Wicked Postman

Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, mother dear.
The rain is coming in from the open window, making you all wet and you don’t mind it.
Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so strange?
Haven’t you got a letter from father to-day?
I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost everybody in the town.
Only, ৲he keeps৲ ৴father’s letters৴ to read himself. I am sure the postman is a wicked man.
But do not take that to heart, mother dear.
Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid to buy some p<i>{e}ns and papers.
I myself will write all father’s letters; <not> ৲you will {not} find৲ ৴a single mistake৴.
I <will> {shall} write from A right up to K.
But, mother, why do you smile?
You don’t believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
But, I <will> {shall} rule my paper carefully and write all the letters beautifully big.
When I finish my writing, do you think I <will> {shall} be so foolish as father and drop <is> {it} into the horrid postman’s bag?
I <will> {shall} bring it to you myself without delay and letter by letter help you to read my writing.
I know the postman <never> {does not} like<s> to give you the really nice letters.

**97a

±{The Wicked Postman— P.60-61}±

**97

*The Crescent Moon
*The Hero

Mother, let us imagine we are travelling and passing through a strange and dangerous countr{y}<+++>.
You are riding in a palanquin and I am trotting by you on a red horse.
It is evening and the sun goes down. The heath of Joradighi lies wan and grey before us. The land is desolate and barren.
You are frightened and thinking— “I know not where we have come to.”
I say to you, “Mother, do not be afraid.”

The meadow is prickly with spiky grass and through it runs a narrow broken path.
There are no cattle to be seen in the wide field, they have gone to their village stalls.
It grows dark and dim on the land and sky and we cannot tell where we are going.
Suddenly you call me and ask me in a whisper, “What light is that near the bank?”
Just then there bursts out a fearful yell and figures come running toward us.
You sit crouched in your palanquin and repeat the names of {the} gods in prayer.
The bearers, shaking in terror, hide themselves in the thorny bush.
I shout to you, “Never fear, mother, I am by your side.”

With long sticks in their hands and hair all wild about their heads they come nearer and nearer.
I shout, “Take care villains! One step more and you are dead men.”
They give another terrible yell and rush forward.
You clutch my hand and say, “Dear boy, for heaven’s sake, keep away from them.”
I say, “Mother, just you watch me.”

Then I sp<ea>{u}r my horse for a wild gallopp and my sword and buckle<t>{r} clash against each other.
The fight becomes so fearful, mother, that it would give you a cold shudder could you see it from your palanquin.

**98a

±{The Hero (1) P.62-65}±

<*The Gardener
*42

O you mad, you superbly drunk,
If you kick open your doors and play the fool in public;
If you empty your bag in a night, and snap your fingers at prudence;
If you walk in curious paths and play with useless things;
Reck not rhymes o<f>{r} reason;
If you break the rudder in two unfurling your sails before the store,
Then I will follow you, comrade, and be drunken and go to the dogs.
I have wasted my days and nights in the company of steady wise neighbours.
Much knowing has turned my hair grey, and much watching has made my sight dim.
For years I have gathered and heaped all scraps and fragments of things:
Crush them and dance upon them, and scatter them all to the winds.
For I know ’tis the height of wisdom to be drunken and go to the dogs.

Let all crooked scruples vanish, let me>

**98

Many of them fly and a great number are cut to pieces.
I know you are thinking sitting all by yourself{,} that your boy must be dead by this time.
But I come to you all stained with blood and say, “Mother, the fight is over now.”
You come out and kiss me pressing me to your heart, and you say to yourself,
“I don’t know what I should do had I not my boy to escort me.”

A thousand useless things happen day after day, and why couldn’t such a thing come true by chance?
It would be like a story in a book.
My brother would say,— “How is it possible! I always thought he was so delicate!”
Our village people would all say <surprised> {in amazement}, “Was it not <quite> lucky that the boy was with his mother?”

**99a

±{The Hero P(2) P-62-65}±

*The Gardener
*42 (cont.)

<skirt through the leaves. I will replenish <you> with scented oil the lamp that burns by>

**99

*The Crescent Moon
*The End

It is time for me to go, mother, I am going. When in the paling darkness of the lo{n}<v>ely dawn you stretch out your arms for your baby in the bed I <will> {shall} say “Baby is not there,”— mother, I am going.

I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you <all>; and I shall be ripples in the water when you bathe and kiss you and kiss you again.

In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you will hear my whisper in your bed, and my laughter will flash with the lightening through the open window into your room.

If you keep awake thinking of your baby till late into the night, I <will> {shall} sing to you from the stars, “Sleep mother, sleep.”

∟On the straying moonbeams I <will> {shall} steal <upon> {over} your bed, and lie upon your bosom while you sleep.

I shall become a dream and through the little opening of your closed eyelids, I <will> {shall} slip into the depths of your slumber and when you wake up and looking round startled, like a twinkling firefly I shall flit out into the darkness.

When on the great festival of puja, the neighbours children come and play about the house I shall melt into the music of the flute and throb in your heart all day.

With Puja-presents dear auntie will come and will ask “Where is our baby, <+++> sister?” ৲mother৲, ৴you <shall> {will} tell her softly,৴ “He is in the pupils of my eyes, he is in my body and {in} my soul.”

**100a

±{The End— P.66-67}±

*The Gardener
*11

<Come as you are, tarry not over your toilet.>

**100

*The Crescent Moon
*The Last Bargain

“Come and buy me,” I cried.

Some hesitated and came, some laughed at me, and some wiped tears in secret.

In the noonday I was walking in the stone-paved road.

Sword in hand the King came in his chariot.

He held my hand and said, “I will buy you with my <+++> power.”

His power became exhausted and he went back in his chariot.

Houses st<+++>{o}od with doors shut.

I wandered along the crooked lane.

The old man came out with his bag of gold.

He p<l>{o}ndered and said, “I will buy you with my gold.”

He counted his coins one by one and I {came} away.

It was evening. The garden hedge was all aflower.

The fair maid came out and said, “I will buy you with a smile.”

Her smile paled and melted into tears and she went back into the dark.

The sun glistened on the sand and the sea waves were willful.

±{next page}±

**101a

±{The Last Bargain (1)— P.81-82}±

**101

The child sat and played with shells.

He raised <raised> his head and seemed to know me, and said, “I will buy you with nothing.”

That day my burden was lightened and the bargain was made in a child’s play.

**102a

±{The Last Bargain (2)— P.81-82}±

**102

*Blank Page

**103a

*Blank Page

**103

*Fruit Gathering
*IV

With the morning came his letter.

I woke from sleep and my heart was full.

I will show my letter to no one.

I know not what it speaks, for, I cannot read.

Yet I have the letter in my hand and the gladness of it is filling the air like the music of flutes.

They say there is a learned man who can read all kinds of writing, but I care not to go to him.

I will leave him alone with his books, for who knows if he can read aright what the letter says to me?

He will only puzzle me with his dark learned sayings.

I would rather hold it to my forhead unread and press it close to my heart.

When the night grows dark and the stars come out one by one I will spread it out on my lap and gladly sit silent.

Then the rustling leaves of the forest will read it to me aloud, and the running stream will chant it, and the seven wise stars of the Great Bear will sing it to me from the sky.

Ignorant though I be I have my letter all the same.

±{next page}±

**104a

±{[\Fruit-Gathering— 4\].(P.i)
I woke and found his letter with the morning}±

**104

It will stay with me day and night, it will never leave my breast.

What I try to seek I find not, what I try to know I can never understand; but this unread letter of mine has lightened my burdens and turned all my thoughts into songs.

±{F. G 4}±

**105a

±{[\Fruit-Gathering— 4(ii)\]
I woke and found this letter with the morning}±

**105

*Fruit Gathering
*V

A mere handful of dust could obscure <{thy}> {your signal before I} <it when I> knew <not the> {its} meaning <of th<e>{y} signal>.

Now that I am wiser I read it in all that <+++ did hide it before.> {hid it before.}
It is painted in petals of flowers; sea waves flash it from their foam; hills hold it high on their summits.

<I had> <m>{M}y face ±{was}± t<+++>{u}rned <away> <{over}> {away} from you, thus I read the letters awry and knew not their meaning.

**106a

±{See: A handful of dust could hide your signal
Fruit-Gathering— v=5, P.6}±

**106

*Fruit Gathering
*V

A mere handful of dust could obscure it when I knew not the meaning of th<e>{y} signal.

Now that I am wiser I read it in all that <I> did hide it before.
It is painted in petals of flowers; sea waves flash it from their foam; hills hold it high on their summits.

I had my face turned away from you, thus I read the letters all awry and knew not their meaning.

**107a

±{See: A handful of dust could hide your signal.
Fruit-Gathering— V=5, P.6}±

**107

*Fruit Gathering
*II

My life when young was like a flower— a flower that loosens a petal or two from her abundance to give them away and never feel the loss, when the spring breeze wooes her with insisten<ce>{t} whispers.
Now at the end of youth my life is like a fruit, having nothing to spare, and waiting to offer herself completely with her full burden of sweetness.

±{জীবন যখন ছিল ফুলের মত (গীতিমাল্য II)
Fruit Gathering}±

**108a

±{Fruit Gathering— 2}±

**108

*Fruit Gathering
*XV

I know your voice and I understand your words;
But they confound me who always talk of you.
Your sky has the simple light, your winds the simple whispers.
The heart has its own impulse to open, the life has the rush of its own hidden s spring to fill its emptiness.
The songs come out of your window and wing across the sky.
Your boat sails on the floodtide of morning light to come to my landing.
What is there to ask of the wise? The day and night are the roads that bring you into the threshold of my home and I do not go out to seek you from door to door.

±{[\গীতিমাল্য: ৭৩\]
(ওদের কথায় ধাঁদা লাগে)
c.f. Fruit-Gathering 15.
See— Your speech is simple}±

**109a

±{cf: Fruit-Gathering 15
Your speech is simple, my Master.}±

**109

*Fruit Gathering
*XVIII

No, it is not yours to open buds into blossoms.
Shake the bud, strike it, but it is beyond your power to make it blossom.
Your touch soils it, you tear its petals to pieces and strew it on the dust.
But no colours appear, and the perfume is hidden, for, it is not for you to open the bud into a blossom.
He who can open the bud into a blossom does it so simply.
He gives it a glance of his eyes, and the life sap stirs through its veins, for, he who can make the bud blossom can do it so simply.
At his breath the flower spreads its wings and flutters in the wind.
Colours flush out like heart longings, the perfume betrays sweet secrets.
He who can open the bud does i<+++>{t} so simply.

±{XVIII}±

**110a

±{Fruit-Gathering— XVIII=18, P.21}±

**110

*Fruit Gathering
*XVIII

No, it is not for you to open the buds into a blossom.

You shake it and strike it at its stem, but it is not for you to open the bud into a blossom.

You soil it with your touch, tear its petals to pieces and lay it upon the dust.

But no colours appear, and the perfume is hidden, for, it is not for you to open the bud into a blossom.

He who can open the bud into a blossom does it so simply.

He gives it a glance of his eyes, and the life sap stirs through its veins, for<,> he who can make the bud blossom can do it so simply.

At his breath the flower spreads its wings and flutters in the wind.

Colours flush out like heart long<o>{i}ngs, the perfume betrays sweet secrets.

He who can open the bud does it so simply.

±{XVIII}±

**111a

±{See—: <+++> No: it is not yours to open bud.
Fruit-Gathering— [\XVIII\]=18, P-21}±

**111

*Fruit Gathering
*XX

Make me thy poet, O Night, veiled Night!

They who have sat speechless for ages in thy shadows let me voice their songs.

Take me up on thy chariot without wheels that runs noiselessly from world to world, thou <q>ueen in the palace of Time, thou darkly beautiful.

Many a questioning mind has stealthily entered thy courtyard and roamed through thy lampless mansion seeking for their answers.

From many a heart, pierced with the arrow of joy from the hands of the unknown, have burst forth sudden glad chants, shaking the darkness to its foundation.

Those wakeful solitary souls are gazing in wonder at their treasure in the starlight.

Make me their poet, O Night, the poet of thy fathomless silence!

±{XX}±

**112a

±{Fruit-Gathering— [\XX\]=20, P.25}±

**112

*Fruit Gathering
*XX

Make me thy poet, O Night, veiled Night!

They who have sat speechless for ages in thy shadows let me voice their songs.

Take me up on thy chariot without wheels that runs noiselessly from world to world, thou queen in the palace of Time, thou darkly beautiful.

Many a questioning mind has stealthily entered thy courtyard and roamed through thy lampless mansion seeking for their answers.

From many a heart, pierced with the arrow of joy from the hands of the unknown, have burst forth sudden glad chants, shaking the darkness to its foundation.

Those wakeful solitary souls are gazing in wonder at their treasure in the starlight.

Make me their poet, O Night, the poet of thy fathomless silence!

±{XX}±

**113a

±{Fruit-Gathering— [\XX\]=20 P.25}±

**113

*Fruit Gathering
*XXII

Give me your flute for awhile.
This autumn morning is tired with its excess of light, and if your songs become fitful and languid give me your flute for awhile.

I will play with it as I wish.
I will take it on my lap; I will touch it with my lips; I will keep it by my side on the grass.
I will play with it as I wish.

In the evening I will gather flowers to deck it with wreaths.
I will fill it with fragrance; I will worship it with the lighted lamp.
In the evening I will deck it with wreaths.

At night the crescent moon will wander among the stars.
I will come to you and give you back your flute.
You will play on it the music of the midnight when the crescent moon wanders among the stars.

±{22}±

**114a

±{See: This autumn morning is tired with excess of light
Fruit Gathering— [\XXII\]=22, P.28}±

**114

*Fruit Gathering
*XXV

The bird of the morning sings.

Whence does it get the message of the morning before the morning breaks?

The dragon night still holds the {sky} in its cold, black coils.

Yet the bird of the morning sings.

Waves upon waves of thick leaves swell up above your cosy nest, little bird of the morning!

There at the corner of the forked branch of the mossy old tree you carved your neck and tucked your head into your wings and slept.

Tell me, bird of the morning, how, through these double folds of night, that of the sky and of the leaves, he found his way into your dream, the messenger of light from the sky?

The blood quickened in your veins, your wings became restive, you raised your eyes to the star of the east and from your full throat poured forth prodigal songs.

Whence did you have this faith undoubting, little bird of the morning, when thick was the gloom all around?

The world believed you not when <+++>{y}ou cried: “The sun is on his way. The night is no more.”

O sleeper, be glad and awaken! The bird of the morning sings.

Take the sacred touch of the first blessing of light on your forhead and sing with the bird of the morning in pure joy!

±{F G 25}±

**115a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 25}±

**115

*Fruit Gathering
*XXV

The bird of the morning sings.

Whence <does> {has} it <get the message> {word} of the morning before the morning breaks?

The dragon night still holds the {sky} in its cold, black coils.

Yet the bird of the morning sings.

Wave<s> upon wave<s> <of thick> {heavy} leaves swell up above your cosy nest, little bird of the morning!

There at <the> {a} <corner> {crook} of the fork<ed>{ing} branch of the mossy old tree you <carved> {bent} your neck and tucked your head <into> {under} your wings and slept.

Tell me, bird of the morning, how, through the<se> <double> {two} fold<s of> night, that of the sky and the leaves, he found his way into your dream, the messenger of light from the sky?

The blood quickened in your veins, your wings <became> {grew} <restive> {troubled}, you raised your eyes to the star of the east and from your full throat poured forth <prodigal> songs.

Whence did you have this ৲undoubting৲ ৴faith৴, little bird of the morning, when <thick was> the gloom {was thick} all around?

The world believed you not when you cried: “The sun is on his way. The night is no more.”

O sleeper, be glad and awaken! The bird of the morning sings.

Take the sacred touch of the first blessing of light on your forhead and sing with the bird of the morning in pure joy!

±{F. G. <+++> 25}±

**116a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 25}±

**116

*Fruit Gathering
*XXIX

You have set me on the side of defeat.
I know it is not for me to win but, I will not leave the game.
Some there are who rise and some fall. If I have to sink to the bottom I will take my plunge.
I will play the game of my undoing.

I will play like a prince and stake all I have.
When I have lost my last penny I will stake myself.
Then what happens none knows. I think I will win by my defeat.

±{Fruit Gathering— 29}±

**117a

±{Fruit-Gathering— [\XXIX\]
You have set me among those who are defeated}±

**117

*Fruit Gathering
*XL

O fire, my brother, I sing victory to you.
You are the bright red image of fearful freedom.
You swing your arms in the sky, you play your <harp> {Vina} with impetuous hands, your mad {dance} music <of dance> is fiercely beautiful.
When my days will be ended and the gates will open you will burn to ashes the cordage from my hands and feet.
My body will be one with you, my heart will be caught in the whirls of your frenzy, and the burning heat of my life will flash up and die in your flame.

±{XL}±

**118a

±{Fruit-Gathering 40, P.55}±

**118

*Fruit Gathering
*XL

O fire, my brother, I sing victory to you.
You are the bright red image of fearful freedom.
You swing your arms in the sky, you play your harp with impetuous hands, your mad music of dance is fiercely beautiful.
When my days will be ended and the gates will open you will burn to ashes the cordage from my hands and feet.
My body will be one with you, my heart will be caught in the whirls of your frenzy, and the burning heat of my life will flash up and die in your flame.

±{XL}±

**119a

±{Fruit-Gathering 40, P.55}±

**119

*Fruit Gathering
*XLIV

The light will wane before my eyes, the sight of the world will grow dim and disappear.
The lamp that burns in the inner chamber will be hidden.
Death will come and spread the bridal carpet for you to take your seat there alone with me in the worldless silence till the night is done.

±{[\নৈবেদ্য: ২৯\]
(ক্রমে ম্লান হয়ে আসে)}±

**120a

±{[\cf. Fruit-Gathering— 44\]
The day that stands between you and me}±

**120

*Fruit Gathering
*XLIV

The light will wane before my eyes, the sight of the world will grow dim and disappear.
The lamp that burns in the inner chamber will be hidden.
Death will come and spread the bridal carpet for you to take your seat there alone with me in the worldless silence till the night is done.

**121a

±{cf: [\Fruit-Gathering— 44\]
The day that stands between you and me}±

**121

*Fruit Gathering
*LXV

My night has passed in the bed of sorrow. and in the morning my eyes are tired.

My heavy heart is not yet ready to meet the glad morning with its <jostling throng of> {crowded} joys.

Ah, draw a veil over this {un}shelter<less>{ed} <n>{l}ight, beckon aside from me these flashes and dances of life.

Let thy mantle of tender darkness cover my heart in its folds, and screen for a while my pain from the rude pressure of the <crowded> {jostling} world.

±{XLV}±

**122a

±{Fruit-Gathering XLV=45, P.65}±

**122

*Fruit Gathering
*XLV

My night has passed in the bed of sorrow. and in the morning my eyes are tired.

My heavy heart is not yet ready to meet the glad morning with its jostling throng of joys.

Ah, draw a veil over this shelterless <n>{l}ight, beckon aside from me these flashes and dances of life.

Let thy mantle of tender darkness cover my heart in its folds, and screen for a while my pain from the rude pressure of the crowded world.

±{XLV}±

**123a

±{Fruit-Gathering— XLV=45, P.65}±

**123

*Fruit Gathering
*XLVI

The time is past when I could repay her for all that I received<.>{,} <Her night has found its morning and thou hast taken her to thy arms;> and to <thee> {you} I bring my grateful gifts that were for her.

For all the hurts and offences to her I come to <thee> {you} for <thy> {your} forgiveness.

I offer to <thy> {your} service those flowers of my love that still remained in bud when she waited for them to open.

±{F. G. 46}±

**124a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 46}±

**124

*Fruit Gathering
*XLVI

The time is past when I could repay her for all that I received.

Her night has found its morning and thou hast taken her to thy arms; and to thee I bring my grateful gifts that were for her.

For all hurts and offences to her I come to thee for thy forgiveness.

I offer to thy service those flowers of my love that still remained in bud when she waited for them to open.

±{F. G. 46}±

**125a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 46}±

**125

*Fruit Gathering
*XLVII

I found a few old letters of mine carefully hidden in <thy> {her} box— a few small toys for <thy> {her} memory to play with.

With a timorous heart <thou didst try> {she tried} to steal these trifles from the turbulent stream of time which washes away planets and stars<.>{,} <A>{a}nd <didst say> {said}, “These are only mine!”

Alas, there is no one now to claim them, who is able to pay their price, yet they are still here.

Is there no love in this world to rescue <thee> {her} from utter loss, even like this love of <thine> {hers} that saved these letters with such fond care?

±{XLVII}±

**126a

±{Fruit-Gathering— XLVII=47, P.67}±

**126

*Fruit Gathering
*XLVII

I found a few old letters of mine carefully hidden in <thy> {her} box— a few small toys for <thy> {her} memory to play with.

With a timorous heart <thou didst try> {she tried} to steal these trifles from the turbulent stream of time which washes away planets and stars.

And did<st> say, “These are only mine!”

Alas, there is no one now to claim them, who is able to pay their price, yet they are still here.

Is there no love in this world to rescue <thee> {her} from utter loss, even like this love of <thine> {hers} that saved these letters with such fond care?

±{XLVII}±

**127a

±{Fruit-Gathering— XLVII=47, P.67}±

**127

*Fruit Gathering
*LI

I I know that at the dim end of some day the sun will send its last look upon me to bid me farewell.
The tired wanderer will pipe on his reed idle tunes by the wayside;
The cattle will graze on the slope of the river’s bank; the children with careless c clamour will play in their courtyards, and birds will sing,— but my days will come to their end.
This is my prayer to thee that I may know before I leave why the green earth raised her eyes into the light and called me to her arms; why the silence of night spoke to me of stars, and daylight stirred into my life glad ripples? This is my prayer to thee.
When the time comes for me to go let all my songs cease upon their one refrain and my basket be full with the fruits and flowers of all seasons. Let me see thy face in the light of this life before it dies and know that thou hast accepted the garland of beauty that was woven in my heart when the time comes for me to go.

<52> 51

**128a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 51±

**128

*Fruit Gathering
*LII

The tumult of your play is without end.
What mirth of music is that in whose measure you swing the great swing of the All?
We laugh in glee when it is pushed on to the crest of light; we shrink in terror when it sweeps back into dark disappearance.
But the fear is false, for the play is the same that pulses up or down with rhythms of the endless music.
You toss up the ball from your right hand to your left and from the left to the right hand again.
You scatter suns and planets on your way and gather them back as you move.
You hide you treasure in the palm of your hand and we cry that we are robbed.
But open and shut your palm as you will the gain and the loss are the same.
At the game you play yourself you lose and win at the same moment and the world with its pleasure and pain smiles.
The deep of its heart is rocked at the rush of your play, and the light and song and love are for all time.
The world swings and sways and dances with the rhythm of the endless music.

±{[\উৎসর্গ: ৪১\] (চিরকাল একি লীলা গো)
c.f. Fruit Gathering 52.}±

**129a

±{[\Fruit Gathering— 52\]
cf: What music is that in whos}±

**129

*Fruit Gathering
*LVI

O woman, <thou> {you} came<st> for a moment to my side and touched me with the great mystery of the woman that there is in the heart of creation,— she who ever gives back to God his own outflow of sweetness;

Who is the eternal beauty and youth in nature;

who dances in bubbling streams and sings in the morning light;

who with heaving waves suckles the thirsty earth and whose mercy melts in rain;

in whom the Eternal One breaks in two in joy that can contain itself no more and overflows in the pain of love.

±{56}±

**130a

±{See: You came for a moment to my side
Fruit-Gathering— 56}±

**130

*Fruit Gathering
*LVI

O woman, thou camest for a moment to my side and touched me with the great mystery of the woman that there is in the heart of creation,— she who ever gives back to God his own outflow of sweetness;

Who is the eternal beauty and youth in nature;

who dances in bubbling streams and sings in the morning light;

who with heaving waves suckles the thirsty earth and whose mercy melts in rain;

in whom the Eternal One breaks in two in joy that can contain itself no more and overflows in the pain of love.

±{56}±

**131a

±{See— You came for a moment to my side—
Fruit-Gathering— 56, P.77}±

**131

*Fruit Gathering
*LVII

Ah, who is she who dwells in my heart, the woman sorrowing ever?

I wooed her and I failed.

I decked her with wreaths and sang songs in her praise.

A smile shone in her face for a moment, then it faded.

“I have no joy in thee,” she cried, the woman in sorrow.

I bought jewelled anklets for her feet and fanned her with a fan gem-studded; I made for her a bed on a golden couch.
There flickered a gleam of gladness in her eyes, then it died.

“I have no joy in these,” she cried, the woman in sorrow.

I seated her <in> {upon} a car of victory and drove her from end to end of the earth.

Conquered hearts bowed down at her feet, and shouts of applause rang in the sky.

Pride shone in her eyes for a moment, then it was dimmed in tears.

“I have no joy in conquest,” she cried, the woman in sorrow.

I asked her, “Tell me whom is it thou seekest?”

She only said, “I do not know his name.”

Days pass by and she weeps.

“When will my beloved come whom I know not, and be known to me for ever?” she cries, the woman in sorrow.

±{F G— 57}±

**132a

±{See: Who is she who dwells in my heart
Fruit-Gathering— 57, P.78}±

**132

*Fruit Gathering
*LX

The odour cries in the bud, “Ah me, the day departs, the happy day of spring, and I am shut up in my petalled prison!”
Lose not heart, timid thing! Your bonds will burst, the bud will open into flower and when you die away in a sigh, <complete and contented,> {in a fulness of life,} even then the spring will last<.> {on.}

The odour pants and <beats itself> {flutters} within the bud, crying, “Ah me, the hours pass by, yet I know not where I am going, what it is I seek!”
Lose not heart, timid thing! The spring breeze has overheard your desire, the day will not end before you have fulfilled your being.

Dark is the future and the odour cries in despair, “Ah me, through whose fault is my life so unmeaning? <+++ho> {Who} can tell me why I am at all?”
Lose not heart, timid thing! The perfect dawn is near when you will mingle your life with all life and know at last your purpose.

±{F. G 60}±

**133a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 60}±

**133

*Fruit Gathering
*LX

The odour cries in the bud, “Ah me, the day departs, the happy day of spring, and I am shut up in my petalled prison!”

Lose not heart, timid thing! Your bonds will burst, the bud will open into flower and when you die away in a sigh, complete and contented, even then the spring will last.

The odour pants and beats itself within the bud, crying, “Ah me, the hours pass by, yet I know not where I am going, what it is I seek!”

Lose not heart, timid thing! The spring breeze has overheard your desire, the day will not end before you have fulfilled your being.

Dark is the future and the odour cries in despair, “Ah me, through whose fault is my life so unmeaning? 2ho can tell me, why I am at all?”

Lose not heart, timid thing! The perfect dawn is near when you will mingle your life with all life and know at last your purpose.

±{F. G 60}±

**134a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 60}±

**134

*Fruit Gathering
*LXI

She is still a child, my lord.

She runs about your palace and plays, and tries to make of you a plaything as well.

She heeds not when her hair tumbles down and her careless garment drags on the dust.

When she builds her house with sands and decks her dolls with tinsels she thinks she is doing great works.

Her elders warn her never to hold you of small account. She is frightened and knows not how to serve you.

She starts up from her play and reminds herself she must do what she is bid.

She falls asleep when you speak to her and answers not.

The flower you give her in the morning slips to the dust from her hands.

When the storm bursts with a sudden clash{,} and darkness is on the sky, she is sleepless; her dolls {lie} scattered on the earth and she clings to you in terror.

We are afraid lest she should be guilty of remissness.

But with a smile on your face you watch her at her game and you know her.

You know the child sitting in the dust is your destined bride.

You know all her play will end in love.

For her you keep ready a jewelled seat in your house and honey in the golden jar.

±{F. G— 61}±

**135a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 61}±

**135

*Fruit Gathering
*LXII

“Who is there but the sky, O sun, which can hold thine image?”
“I dream of thee but to serve thee I never can hope,” the dewdrop wept and said,
“I am too small to take thee unto me, great lord, and thus my life is all tears.”

“I illumine the limitless sky, yet I can yield myself up to a tiny drop of dew,” thus said the sun and smiled,
“I will be a speck of sparkle and fill you, and your little life will be a smiling orb.”

±{F. G. 62}±

**136a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 62}±

*The Gardener
*11

<Come as you are, tarry not over your toilet.
If your braiding has got loose, if the parting>

**136

*Fruit Gathering
*LXII

“Who is there but the sky, O sun, which can hold thine image?”
“I dream of thee but to serve thee I never can hope,” the dewdrop wept and said,
“I am too small to take thee unto me, great lord, and thus my life is all tears.”

“I illumine the limitless sky, yet I can yield myself up to a tiny drop of dew,” thus said the sun and smiled,
“I will be a speck of sparkle and fill you, and your little life will be a smiling orb.”


±{F. G. 62}±

**137a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 62}±

*The Gardener
*11

<Come as you are, tarry not over your toilet.
If your braiding has got loose, if the parting>

**137

*Fruit Gathering
*LXIII

Not for me is the love that knows no restraint, but like the foaming wine would burst its vessel in a moment and madly run to waste.
Send me the love which is cool and pure like your rain that blesses the thirsty earth and fills the homely earthen jars.
Send me the love that would soak down into the centre of being and from there would spread like the unseen sap through the branching tree of life, giving birth to fruits and flowers.
Send me the love that keeps the heart still with {the} fulness of peace.

±{F. G— 63}±

**138a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 63
For Fruit Gathering [\66\]
See Volume no 3}±

**138

*Fruit Gathering
*LXXI

O the waves, the sky devouring waves, drowning the past and flooding the to-come— the waves glistening with light, dancing with life— the waves of Eternal joy.
The stars rock upon them.
Thoughts are cast up by them from the deep.
Birth and death rise and fall with their rhythm, and the sea-gull of my heart spreads its wings and cries in delight.

±{71}±

**139a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 71}±

**139

*Fruit Gathering
*LXXI

O the waves, the sky devouring waves, drowning the past and flooding the to-come— the waves glistening with light, dancing with life— the waves of Eternal joy.
The stars rock upon them.
Thoughts are cast up by them from the deep.
Birth and death rise and fall with their rhythm, and the sea-gull of my heart spreads its wings and cries in delight.

±{71}±

**140a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 71}±

**140

*Fruit Gathering
*LXXIV

No more, ah no more of this.
No more fear and doubt.
My bonds are cut, my debts paid.
My door has been opened, I go everywhere.
They sit in their corner and weave their web of weak hours.
They count their coins in the dust and call me back.
But my sword is forged, my armour donned, my horse is eager to run.
I will conquer the world.

±{74}±

**141a

±{See: My bonds are cut,
Fruit-Gathering— 74, P.102}±

**141

*Fruit Gathering
*LXXV

It was only the other day that I came to this earth, naked and nameless, with a wailing cry that knew not a single name.
Today my voice calls this world in tuneful songs, while you, my lord, stand aside and smile and make room for others to fill my life.
Even when I bring you my songs for an offerings I have the hope in my heart that men will come and accept them when your worship is done and love me for them.
You love to see that I love this world where you have brought me.

±{Fruit Gathering— <103> 75}±

**142a

±{[\Fruit-Gathering— 75\]
It was only the other day that I came to your earth}±

**142

*Fruit Gathering
*LXXIX

To be sheltered from dangers is not my prayer, but to be fearless in facing them.

Not for balm for my pain do I beg, but for the heart to conquer it.

I look not for allies in the battlefield of life, but to my own strength.

Losses I do not hope to avoid but to avoid their touch in my soul.

I crave not in anxious fear to be saved but hope for the patience to win my freedom.

I ask no relief from my burdens, only the courage to bear them gladly.

Grant that I may not be a coward, seeing thy mercy in success alone; but let me feel the strong grasp of thy right hand in failure and defeat.

±{F. G 79}±

**143a

±{See: Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers: Fruit Gathering— 79=P.107}±

**143

*Fruit Gathering
*LXXXII

I will utter your name, sitting alone among the shadows of my silent thoughts.
I will utter it without words, I will utter it without purpose.
For I am like a child that calls its mother an hundred times, glad that it can say “Mother.”

±{তোমারি নাম বলব নানা ছলে
গীতিমাল্য
Fruit Gathering— 82}±

**144a

±{Fruit-Gathering— 82
I will suffer your name, sitting alone}±

**144

*Fruit Gathering
*LXXXIII (1)

I feel, it is in me that all the stars of your infinite sky shine.
Your world has broken upon me like a flood.
The flowers of your garden blossom in my body.
The joy of life that is everywhere burns like an incense in my heart.
And the breath of all things plays on my life as on a flute.

±{83/1}±

**145a

±{See: I feel that all the stars shine in me
Fruit-Gathering— 83/1, P.112}±

**145

*Fruit Gathering
*LXXXIII (1)

I feel, it is in me that all the stars of your infinite sky shine.
Your world has broken upon me like a flood.
The flowers of your garden blossom in my body.
The joy of life that is everywhere burns like an incense in my heart.
And the breath of all things plays on my life as on a flute.

±{83/1}±

**146a

±{See: I feel that all the stars shine in me
Fruit-Gathering— 83/1, P.112}±

**146

*Fruit Gathering
*LXXXIII (2)

That you have made known to me your secret path yourself I have mentioned to no<+++> soul.
When they <are> <a>sleep at night I come to your door all alone.
The stars are silent in your house and I am afraid to strike cords of my lute.
I stand still and gaze at the window.
If I see your shadow pass for a moment I come back <rewarded.> {with a full heart.}

In the morning <with my heart full of gladness I sing sitting> {I sit and sing} by the roadside.
The flowers at the hedge give me answer and the star<s> of the morning listens.
The travellers that pass by me, suddenly start and stop and look at my face; they think I am taking their names and calling them.
They know not that I keep hidden the one name behind {an} hundred others.

±{[\ক্ষনিকা: অন্তরতম\] (from 2nd. stanza)
c.f. Fruit Gathering 83.II
১৯০১ or ১৯০০
1900
83/II}±

**147a

±{See: When the world sleeps I come to your door.
Fruit-Gathering: [\LXXXIII\]/II=82/2, P. 112-113}±

**147

*Blank Page

**148a

*Blank Page

**148

*The Fugitive I
*17

Loud rumbles the cloud in the sky. I am alone by the river and the rain is falling.

The harvest lies ranged in sheaves, all reaped. The rushing stream is keen like a scythe.

Round the little plot of land the river is rising.

A village with its trees is dimly seen across the water, shrouded in shadows.

I sit in my field close by the water’s edge.

Who <art thou> {are you}, <fair one>, gliding by in a boat, singing gaily? <It seems to me as though I knew <thee.> {you.}>

<Thy> {Your} sails are filled, the keel of <thy> {your} boat cuts across the helpless waves.

O voyager, <to an unknown land>, <hie thee> {come} hither! Let <thy> {your} boat<v>touch this shore for a moment.

My harvest lies useless in sheaves. Take all and smile.

Yes, more, and yet more! Leave not the least grain behind.

The fruit of the year’s toil is <thine> {yours}, and with it take me.

But for me there is no room, alas! <Thy> {Your} little boat is too full with my grain.

±{next page
I/17}±

**149a

±{cf: The rain fell fast— (ছ.১)
The Fugitive I/17, P.20}±

**149

<Clouds swell in the rain-swept sky and I am left behind.>

The boat takes all that was mine and <quietly> sails away.

±{গগনে গরজে মেঘ ঘন বরষা
সোনার তরী
I/17}±

**150a

±{cf: The rain fell fast— (+++.১)
The Fugitive I/17, P.20}±

**150

*The Fugitive I
*17

Loud rumbles the cloud in the sky. I am alone by the river and the rain is falling.

The harvest lies ranged in sheaves, all reaped. The rushing stream is keen like a scythe.

Round the little plot of land the river is rising.

A village with its trees is dimly seen across the water, shrouded in shadows.

I sit in my field close by the water’s edge.

Who art thou, fair one, gliding by in a boat, singing gaily. It seems to me as though I knew thee.

Thy sails are filled, the keel of thy boat cuts across the helpless waves.

O voyager to an unknown land, hie thee hither! Let thy boat<v>touch this shore for a moment.

My harvest lies useless in sheaves. Take all and smile.

Yes, more, and yet more! Leave not the least grain behind.

The fruit of the year’s toil is thine, and with it take me.

But for me there is no room, alas! Thy little boat is too full with my grain.

±{I/17}±

**151a

±{cf: The rain fell fast (+++-১)
The Fugitive I/17, P.20}±

**151

Clouds swell in the rain-swept sky and I am left behind.
The boat takes all that was mine and quietly sails away.

±{গগনে গরজে মেঘ ঘন বরষা
(সোনার তরী}±

**152a

±{cf. The rains fell fast (+++)
The Fugitive I/17, P.20}±

**152

*The Fugitive II
*11

You have made me a king and enthroned me in your love.
In our audience hall come poets of all times to sing to us.
Into the immortal land of romance where lovers of distant ages weave their mystic spells you have led me and made me their peer.
From the obscurity of the crowd you have lifted me up to your side to crown me with your acceptance.
When they hustle me and hasten to their toil they know not that my love has become precious with your caresses.
They know not that I carry your love in my life even as the moon carries the foaming wine of gods in its silver urn.
You have made me a king, my love!

±{[\চিত্রা: প্রেমের অভিষেক\]
(Essentials only)
[\C.f. The Fugitive II, 11.\]}±

**153a

±{cf: Fugitive- II/11— P.58-59
You have made me great with your love}±

**153

*Fruit Gathering
*LXXXIII

You have made me a king and enthroned me in your love.
In our audience hall come poets of all times to sing to us.
Into the immortal land of romance where lovers of distant ages weave their mystic spells you have led me and made me their peer.
From the obscurity of the crowd you have lifted me up to your side to crown me with your acceptance.
When they hustle me and hasten to their toil they know not that my love has become precious with your caresses.
They know not that I carry your love in my life even as the moon carries the foaming wine of gods in its silver urn.
You have made me a king, my love!

±{II/11}±

**154a

±{cf: Fugitive- II/11— Pg. 58-59
You have made me great with your love}±

**154

*The Fugitive III
*24

The rumour spread all around the country that Kabir was a man of God. People flocked to his door.

The sick asked him for cures; the barren women begged for the blessing of children; some challenged him to show mystic power; some wanted him to prove that God is.

Kabir raised his hands to his God and cried, “By your mercy I was born a weaver in an humble home. But what game is this you are playing, gathering all the crowd at my door to leave me yourself!”

When Brahmins saw the people worshiping him, a man of low birth and occupation, they burned with rage.

With a woman of evil repute they took counsel and they bought her over to their plan.

It was the market day. Kabir came to sell his cloths.

The woman rushed to him and caught his hand. She cried with tears in her eyes— “Faithless one, why desert me and break my heart!”

“Out with you, imposter!” exclaimed the jeering crowd of Brahmins, “You play the saint to delude men and leave this poor woman to starve!”

“Yes,” said Kabir, “I am to blame. Why should she go without food when there is enough for me!”

He welcomed the woman to his home, and said, “Surely, my lord has heard my prayer.”

±{III/24}±

**155a

±{[\Fugitive— III/24\] পৃ (১) Pp. 148-150}±

**155

A sudden fear possessed the woman.

She fell upon her knees and cried, “I have sinned against you. Your curse will be my death.”

“You are forgiven,”— said Kabir, “live with me without fear.”

Days passed and her heart became sweet and thoughts pure. Her voice rang in praise of dear lord. And Kabir was forsaken of men.

One day the King in a fit of idle fancy said he must hear Kabir sing.

The poet shook his head and said to the man from the court,— “I am not fit for King’s audience.”

“I dare not go back without you,” said the royal servant.

King sat on his throne and round him sat his nobles and courtiers.

Kabir entered the hall, the woman following him.

Some smiled and others frowned. The King thought, “What shamelessness to come before me with a woman!” At his signal the guard took them out.

<৲It pierced the woman’s heart. She hell at Kabir’s feet and said weeping, “You lifted me out of the mud to besmirch your own fair name!”৲

৴“You are the gift of my lord,” said Kabir, “my crown of humiliation.” He was hailed by loud laughter from the Brahmins who were waiting at the street.৴>

±{III/24}±

**156a

±{[\Fugitive III/24\] পৃ (২), Pp.148-150}±

**156

*Blank Page

**157a

*Blank Page

**157

*?

I am waiting with my all in the hope of losing everything.
I stand at my door for him who turns one out into the road.
He who hides himself and watches, who loves you unknown to you, to him I have given my heart in secret.
I am waiting with my all in the hope of losing everything.

**158a

*Blank Page

**158

I am waiting with <my> all {I have} in the hope of losing everything.
I stand at my door for him who turns one out into the road.
He who hides himself and watches, who loves you unknown to you, to him I have given {away} my heart in secret.
I am waiting with <my> all {I have} in the hope of losing everything.

±{(আমার সকল নিয়ে ব’সে আছি)
[\রাজা\]
গী.বি.পৃ:৩৭৪
সকল নিয়ে বসে আছি(?)}±

**159a

*Blank Page

**159

*Lover’s Gift
*7

Not much is left, it is little, very little. The rest I have spent and lost in one spring day.
What shall I do with this little?
Shall I weave it in a single song?
Shall I make with it a little chain for your wrist?
Shall I risk it in a <little> game under the shade of a flowering tree, to lose it in a single evening?

Not much is left, it is little, very little. Now alone I sit <at> {by} the ford<ing>.
My <canoe> {boat} is a frail small thing, not fit for <the> crossing <of> the river.
If you but lightly step on it with a smile, I will row you gently <by> {under} the shelter of the shore.
I will pluck a little water lily to put on your hair.
A cuckoo will sing from the <grove> {wood}, and flowers will drop from the branches.
But I must tell you in truth, my <canoe> {boat} is a frail small thing, and I dare not cross with you this rain-swollen river.

±{[\ক্ষণিকা: স্বল্পশেষ\]
(অধিক কিছু নেই গো কিছু নেই)
[\c.f. Lover’s Gift 7.\]}±

**160a

±{[\cf. Lover’s Gift— 7\]}±
It is little that remains new

**160

*Lover’s Gift
*7

Not much is left, it is little, very little. The rest I have spent and lost in one spring day.
What shall I do with this little?
Shall I weave it in a single song?
Shall I make with it a little chain for your wrist?
Shall I risk it in a little game under the shade of a flowering tree, to lose it in a single evening?

Not much is left, it is little, very little. Now alone I sit at the fording.
My canoe is a frail small thing, not fit for the crossing of the river.
If you but lightly step on it with a smile, I will row you gently by the shelter of the shore.
I will pluck a little water lily to put on your hair.
A cuckoo will sing from the grove, and flowers will drop from the branches.
But I must tell you in truth, my canoe is a frail small thing, and I dare not cross with you this rain-swollen river.

**161a

±{[\cf. Lover’s Gift— 7\]
It is little that remains new.}±

**161

*Lover’s Gift
*10

What is it that has driven these bees from their home?
What cry is this in their importunate wings?
The music that sleeps in the soul of flower, how could they hear it and lose their hearts?
How could they find their way to the chamber where the honey lies shy and silent?

**162a

±{Lover’s Gift— 10
What is that drives these bees from their home;}±

**162

*Lover’s Gift
*32

Many a time when the frenzied day of spring stood before our house and called to us, “Open the door,” I kept busy with my work, and you did not answer.
Now when you have left me alone and heartsick, the spring day comes again and I know not how to let him depart from the door.
Time was when he came with joy to crown us and found our gates barred.
Now when he comes with his gift of sorrow his path must be free.

**163a

±{Lover’s Gift— 32}±

**163

*Lover’s Gift
*32

Many a time when the frenzied day of spring stood before our house and called to us, ”Open the door,” I kept busy with my work, and you did not answer.
Now when you have left me alone and heartsick, the spring day comes again and I know not how to let him depart from the door.
Time was when he came with joy to crown us and found our gates barred.
Now when he comes with his gift of sorrow his path must be free.

**164a

±{Lover’s Gift— 32}±

**164

*Lover’s Gift
*36

My fetters, you made music in my heart.
I played with you all day long and hung you on my neck as my ornament.
We were best of friends, my fetters!
There was nothing in you to fear,— it was my own timid thoughts that frightened me.
You were companions of my long dark night, and I make my bow to you before I bid you goodbye, my fetters!

**165a

±{Lover’s Gift— 36}±

**165

*Lover’s Gift
*37

You had your rudder broken many a time, my <barge> {boat}. and your sails torn to shreds.
Often had you drifted towards the sea dragging anchor and cared not.
But now there has spread a crack in your <breast> {hull} and your hold is heavy with salt water.
Now is the time for you to end your voyage and take your rest, to be rocked into sleep by the lapping of the water by the beach.
Alas, I know all warning is vain.
You reck not wise advice, my foolish <barge> {boat}.
The veiled face of dark doom lures you.
The madness of the storm and the waves is upon you.
The music of the tide is rising high. You are shaken by the fever of dance.
Break, break your chain, my <barge> {boat}, and be free, and fearlessly rush to your wreck.

±{সূর্য গেল অস্ত পারে
‘পরামর্শ: ক্ষণিকা
Lover’s Gift 37}±

**166a

±{Lover’s Gift— 37}±

**166

*Lover’s Gift
*37

You had your rudder broken many a time, my barge, and your sails torn to shreds.
Often had you drifted towards the sea dragging anchor and cared not.
But now there has spread a crack in your breast and your hold is heavy with salt water.
Now is the time for you to end your voyage and take your rest, to be rocked into sleep by the lapping of the water by the beach.
Alas, I know all warning is vain.
You reck not wise advice, my foolish barge.
The veiled face of dark doom lures you.
The madness of the storm and the waves is upon you.
The music of the tide is rising high. You are shaken by the fever of dance.
Break, break your chain, my barge, and be free, and fearlessly rush to your wreck.

±{সূর্য গেল অস্ত পারে
‘পরামর্শ— ক্ষণিকা
Lover’s Gift 37}±

**167a

±{Lover’s Gift— 37}±

**167

*Lover’s Gift
*38

The current in my life-stream ran rapid and strong when I was young.
The spring breeze was thriftless, the trees were aflame with flowers; and the birds had no sleep with their songs.
I passed through them with a giddy speed carried away by a flood of passion— I had no time to see and feel and take them in my being.
Now that the youth has ebbed and I am stranded on the bank I can hear the deep music of all things, the blended perfume of the woodlands come wafted to me through the gentle evening air and the sky opens its heart to me with all its stars.

±{[\মানসী: জীবন মধ্যাহ্ন\]
জীবন আছিল লঘু(?)
(1,3,4 stanzas)
[\c.f. Lover’s Gift 38.\]}±

**168a

±{[\Lover’s gift— 38\]}±
The current in which I drifted ran rapid

**168

*Lover’s Gift
*48

It was the best luck of my life that I lost my path one morning.

I lived in the corner of the hill-side, and I trod the old path everyday.

I felt sure in my mind I knew all that there was to be known far and near.

I took my harvest to the market, my cattle to the meadows, I ferried my boat across the stream, and all the ways were easy to me.

That morning my basket was heavy with wares.

Men were busy in the fields and in the pastures; the breast of the earth heaved with the mirth of the ripening rice.

I was startled while walking alone and I thought I felt a strange stir in the air.

By the bend of the road, behind the wayside trees who passed by me and what happened I cannot tell.

I only stepped a few paces aside from my path and suddenly found that ever in my life I walked through the heart of a land unnamed and unmeasured.

Tears came to my eyes to think that I know not my neighbour who dwelt by the familiar path across the haze of the daily dust.

My basket with all its wares lay on the road forgotten.

**169a

±{[\Lover’s gift— 48\]
I travelled the old road every day
গীতিমাল্য— ৫
ভাগ্যে আমি পথ হারালেম}±

**169

*Lover’s Gift
*51

The early autumn day is cloudless.
The river is full to the brim, washing the naked roots of the tottering tree by the ford.
The long narrow path, like the thirsty tongue of the village, dips down into the stream.
The babbling of the water mingles with the laughing gossip of the women at their bath.
The fisherman weaving his net sits in his boat tied to a bamboo pole, and the naked boy plunges into the water with loud shouts.
My heart is full and I feel that happiness is simple like a meadow flower.
We grasp it with a cruel eagerness and crush it; we jump beyond it in our mad pursuit and miss it for ever.
I look around me and see the silent sky and the flowing water and feel that happiness is spread abroad as simply as a smile on a child’s face.

±{আজি মেঘ মুক্ত দিন— সুখ: চিত্রা
Lover’s Gift— 51}±

**170a

[\Lover’s gift— 51\]}±

**170

*Lover’s Gift
*55

Ah, these bird songs— for ages they are passing into our beings unnoticed; they add perfection to lovers’ whispers, to mothers’ kisses, to the glad laughter of children. They flow over our thoughts and works, like a stream over the pebbles, slowly rubbing off their rough edges and rounding them up in beauty.

±{[\c.f. Lover’s Gift 55. 2nd stanza\]
কুহুধ্বনি (মানসী)
Only small portions transalted in the two English +++.}±

**171a

±{cf. [\Lover’s gift. 55 (II)\]
The noonday air is quivering
মানসী/কুহুধ্বনি/প্রখর মধ্যাহ্ন তাপে+++}±

**171

*Lover’s Gift
*55

In the midday sun the hot air is quivering, like the gauzy wings of a monster moth, above the meadow grey with the withered grass.
The roofs of the village huts brood birdlike over the tired households in the faintly scented shadow of the flowering [\neem\], while a [\koel\] sings unseen from its leafy loneliness.
Unwearied it drops its notes upon the tuneless toil of the human crowd.
They seem to come wafted from the heart of some god sitting in a far-away shrine of simple perfectness.
Like a lute with one golden string it ceaselessly repeats its single note to help the tuning of the complex harp of life.

±{প্রখর মধ্যাহ্ন তাপে (কুহুধ্বনি— মানসী)
Lover’s Gift}±

**172a

±{c.f: [\Lover’s gift (1) 55\]
The noonday air is quivering
মানসী/কুহুধ্বনি/প্রখর মধ্যাহ্নতাপে}±

**172

*Blank Page

**173a

*Blank Page

**173

*Poems
*2

Come friend, flinch not, step down upon the hard earth, Do not cull dreams in the dusk.
Storms are brewing in the sky, lightening flashes are striking at our sleep.
Come down to the common life.
The web of illusion is torn, take shelter within walls of rough stones.

±{Poems— 1}±

**174

*Poems
*3

The news of my love is abroad among the spring flowers.
It brings to my mind the strains of the old day songs.
My heart of a sudden has put on green leaves of desire.
My love came not but her touch is on my hair, and her voice comes across the fragrant fields in murmurs of April.
Her gaze is here in the sky, but, where are her eyes?
Her kisses are in the air, but, where are her lips?

±{Poems— 2}±

**175

*Poems
*7

We two have come floating asleep through ages by the twin currents of dream that welled up from the heart of the <b>{B}eginningless.
We two have been rocked in the lives of myriad lovers in solitude of sorrow, in tremor of union.
The onrolling flood of seeking has at last found its end.
The hopes and memories of many thousand springs, the love lyrics of many climes and times have taken form in one perfect joy in our awakened love.

±{[\মানসী: অনন্তপ্রেম\]
3rd, 4th stanza Poem. <20> 6}±

**176

*Poems
*7

We two have come floating asleep through ages by the twin currents of dream that welled up from the heart of the beginningless.
We two have been rocked in the lives of myriad lovers in solitude of sorrow, in tremor of union.
The onrolling flood of seeking has at last found its end.
The hopes and memories of many thousand springs, the love lyrics of many climes and times have taken form in one perfect joy in our awakened love.

±{Poems <20> 6}±

**177

*Poems
*10

Bonds? Indeed they are bonds, this love and this hope in our hearts.
They are as mother’s arms pressing the child to the warmth of her bosom.
Thirst? Yes, it is the thirst which leads life to each source of its joy in the breasts of the eternal mother.
Who would take from the child this thirst of his growing life and break through the bonds of the mother’s encircling arms?

±{Poems— 9}±

**178

*Lover’s Gift
*29

I thought I had something to say to her when our eyes met in the road.
I weave them day and night in my songs, things that I had to say to her.
They bloom and fade in the flowers and spread in the sky with the clouds.
I fold them and unfold them in my heart, the things that I had to say <{and}> to he<a>r.

±{Poems— 10}±

**179

*Lover’s Gift
*29

I thought I had something to say to her when our eyes met in the road.
I weave them day and night in my songs, things that I had to say to her.
They bloom and fade in the flowers and spread in the sky with the clouds.
I fold them and unfold them in my heart, the things that I had to say to hear.

±{Poem— 10}±

**180

*Poems
*11

Lord of my inmost being, has your wish been fulfilled in me?

Has your cup been full with my mingled joys and sorrows?

Has your seat been woven with the webs of my rhymes and tunes?

I know not why you chose me, beloved, for what purpose?

Have you found pleasure in my nights and days?

Have you listened to all voices of my springs and autumns?

Have you strung in a wreath all the flowers that bloomed in my garden?

Have I your pardon for my faults and omissions, my bridegroom?

Days have passed without service and nights without love.

Flowers have dropped on to the dust and have not been gathered for your acceptance.

The harp strings strung with your own hands have slackened and lost their notes.

±{next page}±

**181

I slept in the shadow of your garden and forgot to water your plants.

Is the time over now, my lover? Have we come to the end of this play?

Are my <limbs> arms limp and kisses cold, and has the night waned?

Then let the bells ring of departure, let the morn come for the freshening of love.

Let the knot of a new life be tied for us in a new bridal bond.

±{See [\Lord of my being\] জীবন দেবতা
Poems— 11}±

**182

*Poems
*13

It is little songs and little things that come to my mind this morning.
It seems I am floating on a stream in a boat, passing by the world on both banks.
Every little scene gives a sigh and says, “I go.”
World’s pleasure and pain, like brother and sister, lift their pathetic eyes upon my face from afar.
Homely love peeps from her cottage corner to give me her passing glance.
With eager eyes I gaze from the window of my heart to the heart of the world.
And feel that with all of its good and bad it is lovable.

±{ছোট কথা ছোটো গীত আজি মনে আসে
ধরাতল— <+++> চৈতালি)
Poems— 13
(See Little Songs.)}±

**183

*Poems
*14

Thou ocean of things, they say in thy dark depths there are pearls and gems without end.
Many a diver learned in sea lores are seeking for them.
But I care not to join in their search.
The light that flashed on your surface, the mystery that heaves on your bosom, the music that maddens your waves, and the dance that trips on your foams, are enough for me.
If ever I am weary of them, I will plunge into your unfathomed bottom where there is death, or the treasure.

±{শুনিয়াছি নিম্নে তব হে বিশ্বপাথার
তত্ত্ব ও সৌন্দর্য্য (চৈতালি)
Poems— 14}±

**184

*Poems
*18

You have watched all night alone, your eyes are {t}ired, sweet one!
The light of the lamp has paled, it flickers in the breeze of the dawn.
Wipe away your tears, my friend, and draw up the veil over your breast.
The autumn morning is still, the smell of the woods is in the air, the grassy path is caressingly tender.
Let the wreath of the forlorn night lie crumpled upon the bed.
Come out in the world of the morning, gather fresh flowers in your skirt and put on new blossoms in your hair.

±{আহা +++ পোহালো বিভাবরী (গীতবিতান)
Poems 18}±

**185

*Poems
*19

I threw away my heart in the world; you took it up.
I sought for joy and gathered sorrow, you gave me sorrow and I found joy.
My heart was scattered in pieces, you picked them up in your hand and strung them in a thread of love.
You let me wander from door to door to show me at last how near you are.
Your mercy plunged me into the deep of trouble. The moment I raised my head I found I was at your door.

±{Poem— 19}±

**186

*Poems
*47

The earth gazes at me with gladness.

I vaguely remember the dim dawn when I woke in her lap from my ages of sleep and rose up from the dust and the grass and went out on my wanderings.

The dumb earth looks at my face and spreads her arms about me.

At night the fingers of the stars touch my dreams. They know my former name.

Their whispers remind me of the music of a long silent lullaby.

They bring to my mind the smile of a face seen in the first gleam of daybreak.

There is love in each speck of earth and joy in the spread of the sky.

I care not if I become dust, for the dust is touched by his feet.

I care not if I become a flower, for the flower he takes up in his hand.

Whatever I be I am sure I share his love.

Blessed as the weeds and the stars.

He is in the sea, on the shore; he is with the ship that carries all.

Whatever I am I am blessed and blessed is this earth of dear dust.

±{Poems— 21
(See The dumb earth...).}±

**187

*Poems
*21

They who are near to me know not that you are nearer to me than they are.
They who speak to me know not that my heart is full with your words unspoken.
They who crowd in my path know not I am walking with you.
They who love me know not that their love brings you to my heart.

±{যারা কাছে আছে তারা কাছে থাক (গীতবিতান)
Poems 22}±

**188

*Poems
*48

You will lead me from star to star to waken me in new mornings of love.
It is your love that draws out the flow of my being through the maze of channels of new life over your endless worlds.
You will startle me with new visions of fulfillment at every bend of the road and fashion my moments with immortal forms of joy.
The infinite life will never remain chained in unchanging shackles of immortality but will speed through death to death to countless new shrines of light in its eternal pilgrimage of love.

±{Poems 28}±

**189

*Poems
*49

Dark clouds have blotted all lights from above and we caged birds cry and ask you “My friend, is it the death moment of creation? Has God withdra<e>{w}n his blessings from the sky?”

Times where when the sudden breath of April would waft the distant fragrance of hope into our hearts{,} and the morning light would gild the iron bars of our prison with its golden spell and would bring the gladness of the open world into our cage.

But, see, it is all dark in the hills yonder, and not a thinnest rift has been made by the scimitar of light cutting through the massive gloom.

Our chains today sit heavy on our feet, and not a flush of glow is left in the sky with which to build an illusion of joy.

But let not our fear and sorrow pain you, my fre{i}nd!

Come not to sit at the door of our cage to cry with us.

Your wings are unfettered.

Far away from us you soar beyond all clouds.

And from there send us the message in song—

“The light is shining for ever. The lamp of the sun is not out.”

±{Poems— 29}±

**190

*Poems
*50

The battle is over. After strife and struggles the treasure is gathered and stored.
Come now, woman, with thy golden jar of beauty! Wash away all dust and dirt, fill up all cracks and flaws, make the heap shapely and sound.
Come, beauteous woman, with the golden jar on thy head!

The play is over. I have come to the village and have set up my hearth stone.
Now come, woman, carrying thy vessel of sacred water with tranquil smile and devout love, make my home pure.
Come, noble woman, with they vessel of sacred water.

The morning is over. The sun is fiercely burning. The wandering stranger is seeking shelter.
Come, woman, with thy full pitcher of sweetness— open thy door {and} with a garland of welcome ask him in.
Come, blissful woman, with thy full pitcher of sweetness.

The day is over. The time has come to take leave.
Come, O woman, with thy vessel full of tears! Let thy tristful eyes shed a tender twilight glow on the farewell path and the touch of thy trembling hand make the parting hour full.
Come, sad woman, with thy vessel of tears.

The night is dark; the house is desolate and the bed empty, only the lamp for the last rites is burning.
Come, woman, bring thy brimming jar of remembrance. Open the door of the secret chamber with thy unbraided streaming hair and spotless white robe, replenish the lamp of worship.
Come, suffering woman, bring thy brimming jar of remembrance.

±{Poem 30}±

**191

*Poems
*32

What is this melody that overflows my life, only I know and my heart knows.
Why do I watch and wait, what do I beg and from whom only I know and my heart knows.
The morning smiles like a friend at my gate, the evening droops down like a flower by the edge of the woods.
The flute music floats in the air in the dawn and in the dusk. It beguiles my thoughts away from my toils.
What is this tune and who plays it ever, only I know and my heart knows.

±{Poems 35}±

**192a

±{কী সুর বাজে আমার মনে
গীতবিতান}±

**192

*Poems
*35

If there is none who comes when you call, walk alone.
If there is none who speaks and they turn aside their pale faces, bare your heart and speak alone.
If there is none to share your journey and they all leave you and go, tread upon the thorns of your path and bleed alone.
If there is none to lamp the lamp in the stormy night, and they shut their doors against you, light your own heart with thunderflame and burn alone.

±{[\গান (১৩১৫)\] গী.বি.পৃ: ৩১৪
যদি তোর ডাক শুনে
24 (other version? or both?)
Poems—40}±

**193

*Poems
*35
*exact replica of poem on page 192

±{Poems— 40}±

**194

*Poems
*36

They call you mad. Wait for tomorrow and keep silent.
They throw dust upon your head. Wait for tomorrow. They will bring their wreath.
They sit apart in their high seat. Wait for tomorrow. They will come down and bend their head.

±{যে তোরে পাগল বলে (গীতবিতান)
Poem— 41}±

**195

*Poems
*37

It may {be} that your loved ones will forsake you, but mind it not{,} my heart.

It may be that the creeper of your hope will lie on the dust all torn, its fruits all wasted,— but mind it not, my heart.

It may be that the night will overtake you before you reach the gate{,} and your attempts will ever be in vain to light your lamp, but, mind it not, my heart.

When you tune your harp, the birds and the beasts of the wilderness will flock around you. It may be that your brothers will remain unmoved, but, mind it not, my heart.

The walls are of stones, the doors barred. It may be that you will knock oft and again yet it will not open,— but, mind it not, my heart.

±{Poems— 42}±

**196

*Poems
*37
*replica of poem on page 195

**197

*Poems
*38

Let the earth and the water, the air and the fruits of my country be sweet, my God.

Let the homes and marts, the forests and fields of my country be full, my God.

Let the promises and hopes, the deeds and words of my country be true, my God.

Let the lives and hearts of the sons and daughters of my country be one, my God.

±{বাংলার মাটি বাংলার জল
Poem— 43}±

**198

*Poems
*39

Keep me fully glad with nothing. Only take my hand in your hand.

In the deepening night take up my heart and play with it as you list. Bind me close to you with nothing.

I will spread myself out at your feet and lie still.

Under this sky I will meet silence with silence.

I will become one with the night, clasping the earth in my breast.

Make my life glad with nothing.

The rains sweep the sky from end to end.

In the wild wet wind jasmins revel in their own perfume.

The cloud-hidden stars thrill in secret.

Let me fill to the full my heart with nothing but my own depth of joy.

±{See. For a mere nothing fill me with gladness—
Poems— 45}±

**199

*Poems
*40

I seek and seek in my harp strings the notes that can blend with thine.

Simple are the wakening in the morning and flowing of the water, simple are the dewdrops on leaves, colours in clouds, the moonlight on sandbanks of the river and showers of rain in the midnight.

I seek notes for my songs simple and full as these, fresh and flowing with life, old as the world and known to all.

But my strings are newly strung and they are darting like spears their sharp newsness

Thus my songs never have the spirit of the winds, they never can mingle with the lights of the sky.

My effort is an effort and my restless strains try hard to drown thy music.

±{Poems— 46}±

**200

*Poems
*41

I will lie down upon the ground beneath your footstool in perfect gladness.
My garment will be red with the common dust you touch with your feet.
Set me not higher than <+++> others; keep me not apart from all else.
Draw me down into the lowliness devout.
My garment will be red with the common dust you touch with your feet.
I will remain the last of all your pilgrims; I will try to reach the lowest site which is the broadest.
They come from all sides to ask for gifts from your hands.
I will wait till they all have had their shares and shall be content with the last remnant.
My garment will be red with the common dust you touch with your feet.

±{See ‘Let me lie down’— Poems— 47}±

**201

*?

<O my heart, the funeral call comes to me!>
I promised to myself that I should keep to my house to my daily task but the music calls me through the shut doors.
They say it <is on> {comes from} the brink of the lonely water, <in> {from} the <deep> {quiet} of the shadows of the woodlands <that he pipes the flute> in the evening when the winds are {asleep} <lulled to sleep>. If you know the way, my friends, tell me.
Let me go and see the smile on his face, let me put the <wreath on> {garland round} his neck, and just tell him, “Master, you have made my <own> heart your flute.”

±{মরি লো মরি [\(গী.বি.পৃ: ৩৯)\]
(প্রকৃতির প্রতিশোধ)
বাঁশীতে ডেকেছে কে?}±

**202

*?

O my heart, the tuneful call comes to me!
I promised to myself that I should keep to my house to my daily task but the music calls me through the shut doors.
They say it is on the brink of the lonely water, in the deep of the shadows of the woodlands that he pipes the flute in the evening when the winds are lulled to sleep. If you know the way, my friends, tell me.
Let me go and see the smile on his face, let me put the wreath on his neck and just tell him, “Master, you have made my own heart your flute.”

**203

*?

Let any who will, ponder with eyelids closed,
Whether the Universe be real, or after all an illusion:
I meanwhile sit and gaze with insatiate eyes.
On the Universe shining with the light of Reality.

*?

I asked of Destiny: ‘Tell me
Who with relentless hand pushes me on?’
Destiny told me to look behind. I turned, and behold
My own self behind pushing forward the self in front.

*?

O Death, had’st thou been but emptiness,
In a moment the world would have faded away,
Thou art Beauty: the world like a child,
Rests on thy bosom for ever and ever.

*?

The chandelier flashed up in anger and said to the earthen lamp, “I’ll smother you up if you dare to call me cousin.”
Just then the moon came up in the sky,
And the chandelier cried “Come, my dear dear brother.”

*?

Thou art in the ditch, ’tis easy for thee to throw mud; But what is he to do whose path is ever above thee?

**204

*?

Let any who will, ponder with eyelids closed,
Whether the Universe be real, or after all an illusion:
I meanwhile sit and gaze with insatiate eyes<.>
On the Universe shining with the light of Reality.

*?

I asked of Destiny: ‘Tell me
Who with relentless hand pushes me on?’
Destiny told me to look behind. I turned, and behold
My own self behind pushing forward the self in front.

*?

O Death, had’st thou been but emptiness,
In a moment the world would have faded away,
Thou art Beauty: the world like a child,
Rests on thy bosom for ever and ever.

*?

The chandelier fla<shed>{red} up in anger and said to the earthen lamp, “I’ll smother you <up> if you dare to call me cousin.”
Just then the moon came up in the sky,
And the chandelier cried “Come, my dear dear brother.”

*?

Thou art in the ditch, ’tis easy for thee to throw mud; But what is he to do whose path is ever above thee?

**205

*?

He who has not the power to attain greatness
Has he the power to make greatness small?

*?

The owl takes every opportunity to proclaim
That he has an enmity with the sun.

*?

I will close every door to shut out all possible errors.
“But how am I to enter in?” cried Truth.

*?

Favour complains “I give, but never receive.”
Mercy says— “I give, but never ask.”

*?

Fierce rages the storm and wages war.
Who is it that wins at last? Only the gentle breeze.

*?

“I obey not law, I am free” this is the boast of the Dream.
Truth says sadly to him— “That is why thou art false.”
Dream says “Truth is bound in endless chain of necessity”.
Truth says— “That is why I am perfectly true.”

**206

*?

He who has not the power to attain greatness
{h}<H>as he the power to make greatness small?

*?

The owl takes every opportunity to proclaim
{t}<T>hat he has an enmity with the sun.

*?

I will close every door to shut out all possible errors.
“But how am I to enter in?” cried Truth.

*?

Favour complains “I give, but never receive.”
Mercy says— “I give, but never ask.”

*?

Fierce{ly} <rages> <the> {the} storm <and wages> {wages} war.
Who is it that wins <at last> {in the end}? Only the gentle breeze.

*?

“I obey not law, I am free” this is the boast of the Dream.
Truth says sadly to him— “That is why thou art false.”
Dream says “Truth is bound in endless chain of necessity”.
Truth says— “That is why I am perfectly true.”

**207

*?

You miserly figure, Twenty-seven! What prevented you to become hundred and twenty-seven to swell my purse?” “Were it so, what would be your age, young master?” answered Twenty-seven.

*?

The wasp murmured in contempt: “How ludicrously small are the honeycombs the bees make!” “Try to make a honeycomb still smaller,” said the bee.

*?

“What costly preparations are for me,” says the canal. “Rivers come rushing without ever being asked.” “Sir canal,” says his courtiers to him, “Poor rivers are only made to supply you with water!”

*?

The reed asks the lake to keep strict account of the dews he contributes.

*?

The First takes the hand of the <l>{L}ast in a frank friendship. The Second keeps proudly aloof.

*?

The echo always mocks the sound to conceal that she is his debtor.

**208

*?

“You miserly figure, Twenty-seven! What prevented you to become hundred and twenty-seven to swell my purse?”
∟“Were it so, what would be your age, young master?” <{He}> answered Twenty-seven.

*?

The wasp murmured in contempt: “How ludicrously small are the honeycombs the bees make!”
∟“Try to make a honeycomb still smaller,” said the bee.

*?

“What costly preparations are for me,” says the canal. “Rivers come rushing without ever being asked.”
∟“Sir canal,” says his courtiers to him, “Poor rivers are only made to supply you with water!”

*?

The reed asks the lake to keep strict account of the dews he contributes.

*?

The First takes the hand of the <l>{L}ast in a frank friendship. The Second keeps proudly aloof.

*?

The echo always mocks the sound to conceal that she is his debtor.

**209

*?

The thunder grumbled, “Clouds get credit for my roars; my light they ascribe to the lightning; only they acknowledge me as thunder when I break their heads.”

*?

Love walks with empty hands and smiling face. Prudence asks her, “What have you got for your wages?” Love says, “It is in my heart, I cannot show it.” Prudence says, “Whatever I get I get in hands.”

*?

Turn your body round and round as you like but you cannot change the right into the left.

*?

In the chink of the garden wall blossomed a tiny nameless flower. The rosebush was ashamed to own it as its kindred. The sun rose and smiled on it saying, “Are you well, my darling?’

*?

The flower grieves to think that her perfume goes out. The poet assures her it is never her perfume which she keeps to herself.

*?

“How far are you from me, O fruit?” “I am hidden in your heart, O flower!”

**210

*?

The thunder grumbled, “Clouds get credit for my roars; my light they ascribe to the lightning; only they acknowledge me as thunder when I break their heads.”

*?

Love walks with empty hands and smiling face. Prudence asks her, “What have you got for your wages?”
∟Love says, “It is in my heart, I cannot show it.”
∟Prudence says, “Whatever I get I get in hands.”

*?

Turn your body round and round as you like but you cannot change the right into the left.

*?

In the chink of the garden wall blossomed a tiny nameless flower.
∟The rosebush was ashamed to own it as its kindred.
∟The sun rose and smiled on it saying, “Are you well, my darling?”

*?

The flower grieves to think that her perfume goes out.
∟The poet assures her it is never her perfume which she keeps to herself.

*?

“How far are you from me, O fruit?”
∟“I am hidden in your heart, O flower!”

**211

*?

“Who is there to take up my duties?” asked the setting sun. The world remained dark and silent. With joined palms said the earthen lamp, “I will do what I can, my master!”

*?

“What language is this of yours, O deep sea?”
“It is the language of Eternal question,”
“What language is this in which you answer, O high mountain?”
“It is the language of Eternal silence.”

*?

The arrow thinks it is free, for it moves, and the bow is bound, for it is still. The bow says to the arrow, “Your freedom depends on me.”

*?

The infant flower opened its eyes and found the world sweet. It said to it, “My love, I hope you will last as long as I live.”

*?

Ashes take good care to say that the flame is their elder brother. The smoke boasts that the eldest is he himself. The firefly says, “I have no kinship with the flame, but I am more of a brother to him than you are.”

*?

The flute knows it is the breath that gives birth to its music. The breath knows it is nothing and he who plays on the flute is not known.

**212

*?

“Who is there to take up my duties?” asked the setting sun. The world remained dark and silent.
∟With joined palms said the earthen lamp, “I will do what I can, my master!”

*?

“What language is this of yours, O deep sea?”
“It is the language of Eternal question,”
“What language is this in which you answer, O high mountain?”
“It is the language of Eternal silence.”

*?

The arrow thinks it is free, for it moves, and the bow is bound, for it is still.
∟The bow says to the arrow, “Your freedom depends on me.”

*?

The infant flower opened its eyes and found the world sweet.
∟It said to it, “My love, I hope you will last as long as I live.”

*?

Ashes take good care to say that the flame is their elder brother.
∟The smoke boasts that the eldest is he himself.
∟The firefly says, “I have no kinship with the flame, but I am more of a brother to him than you are.”

*?

The flute knows it is the breath that gives birth to its music. The breath knows it is nothing and he who plays on the flute is not known.

**213

*?

The night comes secretly to open the buds in the forest and disappears in silence.
Flowers wake up and whisper, “We are of the morning!” The morning smiles and says, “Yes.”

*?

The world speaks truth. We take its meaning wrong and call it a liar.

*?

Death threatens to take his son, the thief his wealth and his detractors his reputation.
“But who is there to take away my joy?” asks the poet.

*?

The night kisses the face of the fading day and gently says, “I am death, your mother. Do not fear me, I am to give you fresh birth.”

*?

Death belongs to Life as birth does, even as the walking contains the raising of the foot as much as the laying of it down.

*?

Death, hadst thou been but emptiness, in a moment the world would have faded away.
Thou art Beauty: the world like a child rests on thy bosom for ever and ever.

**214

*?

The night comes secretly to open the buds in the forest and disappears in silence.
Flowers wake up and whisper, “We are of the morning!” The morning smiles and says, “Yes.”

*?

The world speaks truth. We take its meaning wrong and call it a liar.

*?

Death threatens to take his son, the thief his wealth and his detractors his reputation.
“But who is there to take away my joy?” asks the poet.

*?

The night kisses the face of the fading day and <gently says> {whispers to <+++> its ears}, “I am death, your mother. <Do not fear me>, I am to give you fresh birth.”

*?

Death belongs to Life as birth does, even as the walking contains the raising of the foot as much as the laying of it down.

*?

Death, hadst thou been but emptiness, in a moment the world would have faded away.
Thou art Beauty: the world like a child rests on thy bosom for ever and ever.

**215

*?

Said the Bottom to the scornful Top, “I am proud that I have made you high.”

*?

“They call me black who only look at me” said the blackberry, “those who taste me know that I am sweet.”

*?

“Tell me, mango, what you wish to be?”
“To be straight and juicy like a sugarcane.”
“What is your desire, sugarcane?”
“To be a mango, round and smelling sweet.”

*?

“Just think of my great daring,” said the rocket. {⋏“I throw ashes into the face of stars.”⋏}
<⋏⋏>
Said the poet, “Stars are clean as ever, the ashes follow you.”

*?

Time says, “I create this world.” The clock says, “Then I create you.”

*?

The nose thinks, “Poor ears can never smell, they are for hanging ear-drops.”
Ears think “The nose is deaf and of no use. It can only snore.”

**216

*?
*Modern Review, November 1913

“Thou, Impossible Better, in what high heaven art thou hidden?” asked Good.
“In the jealousy of the impotent I dwell” came the answer.

*?

If pain could be got rid of altogether, <T>{t}hen what is pleasure now would become pain.

*?

If you shed tears for the missing sun you also miss the stars.

*?

“I am ashamed of my utter emptiness” said the Word to the Work.
“I know how poor I am when I see you,” said the Work to the Word.

*?

The moon waits for the greater orb of light to bow to him and take its leave in joy.”

*?

The water in a vessel is sparkling. The water in the ocean is dark. The small truth has words that are clear. The great truth has only great silence.